7  XV 


CLARK'S  FIELD 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

BY 

ROBERT  HERRICK 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
ftitoetfibe  prc^  Cambridge 
1914 


du 


COPYRIGHT,    1914,   BY   ROBERT   HERRICK 
ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  June  79/4 


Mft 

CLARK'S  FIELD 


CLARK'S  FIELD 


THE  other  day  I  happened  to  be  in  the  town  where 
I  was  born  and  not  far  from  the  commonplo.ee  house 
in  the  humbler  quarter  of  the  town  where  my  parents 
were  living  at  the  time  of  my  birth,  half  a  cen 
tury  and  more  ago.  I  am  not  fond  of  my  native 
town,  although  I  lived  in  the  place  until  I  was  seven 
teen  or  eighteen  years  old.  It  was  never  a  distin 
guished  spot  and  seems  to  have  gained  nothing  as  yet 
from  having  been  my  birthplace.  It  has  some  repu 
tation  of  its  own,  however,  but  that  is  due  to  the  en 
during  popularity  of  a  certain  cookstove  that  has  long 
been  manufactured  there,  the  "Stearns  and  Frost 
Cooker,"  known  to  many  housewives  of  several 
generations.  In  my  youth  the  Stearns  and  Frost 
stove  works  were  reputed  to  be  the  largest  in  the 
world,  and  most  of  the  plain  citizens  of  Alton  were 
concerned  in  one  way  or  another  with  them.  I  do 
not  happen  to  be  interested  in  the  manufacture  or 
sale,  or  I  may  add  the  use,  of  the  domestic  cook- 
stove.  As  a  boy  I  always  thought  the  town  a  dull, 
ugly  sort  of  place,  and  although  it  has  grown  mar- 
velously  these  last  thirty  years,  having  been  com 
pletely  surrounded  and  absorbed  by  the  neighboring 

city  of  B ,  it  did  not  seem  to  me  that  day  when 

I  revisited  it  to  have  grown  perceptibly  in  grace.  .  .  . 

3 


FIELD 

Having  a  couple*  of  spare  hours  before  meeting  a 
dinner  engagement,  I  descended  into  a  subway  and 
was  shot  out  in  less  than  ten  minutes  from  the  heart 
of  the  city  to  the  old  " Square"  of  Alton,  —  a  jour 
ney  that  took  us  formerly  from  half  to  three  quarters 
of  an  hour,  and  in  cold  or  rainy  weather,  of  which 
there  is  a  good  deal  in  Alton,  seemed  truly  intermin 
able.  From  the  " Square,"  which  no  longer  had  the 
noble  amplitude  of  my  memory,  the  direct  way  to 
Fuller  Place  lay  up  the  South  Road,  -  -  a  broad 
thoroughfare,  through  the  center  of  which  there 
used  to  trickle  occasionally  a  tiny  horse-drawn  ve 
hicle  to  and  from  the  great  city  of  B—  — .  South 
Road,  I  found,  had  changed  its  name  to  the  more 
pompous  designation  of  State  Avenue,  and  it  was 
noisy  and  busy  enough  to  accord  with  my  childish 
imagination  of  it,  but  none  too  large  for  the  mam 
moth  moving- vans  in  which  the  electric  railroad  now 
transported  the  inhabitants.  These  shot  by  me  in 
bewildering  numbers.  I  had  chosen  to  make  the  rest 
of  my  journey  on  foot,  trying  leisurely  to  revive  old 
memories  and  sensations.  For.  a  few  blocks  I  suc 
ceeded  in  picking  out  here  and  there  a  familiar 
object,  but  by  the  time  I  reached  the  cross-street 
where  we  used  to  descend  from  the  street-cars  and 
penetrate  the  lane  that  led  to  Fuller  Place  I  was 
completely  at  sea.  The  ample  wooden  houses  front 
ing  the  South  Road,  each  surrounded  by  its  green 
lawn  with  appropriate  shrubbery,  had  all  given  way 
before  the  march  of  brick  business  blocks.  Even  the 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

" Reformed  Methodist"  church  on  the  corner  of 
Lamb  Street  had  been  replaced  by  a  stone  structure 
that  discreetly  concealed  its  denominational  qual 
ity  from  the  passer-by.  Beyond  the  church  there 
had  been  a  half-mile  of  unoccupied  land  fronting  on 
the  Road,  but  now  the  line  of  "permanent  improve 
ments"  ran  unbroken  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 
Into  this  maze  of  unfamiliar  buildings  I  plunged 
and  wandered  at  random  for  half  an  hour  through 
blocks  of  brick  stores,  office  buildings,  factories, 
tenements,  —  chiefly  tenements  it  seemed  to  me. 
Off  in  one  corner  of  the  district  instead  of  high  tene 
ment  buildings  there  was  something  almost  worse, 
rows  of  mean,  little  two-story  brick  cottages  that 
ranged  upwards  along  a  gentle  slope  that  I  tried  to 
fancy  was  Swan's  Hill,  —  a  dangerous  descent  where 
my  older  brothers  and  I  were  once  allowed  to  coast 
on  our  "double-runner."  I  will  not  weary  the  reader 
with  further  details  of  my  wandering  with  its  dis 
appointment  and  shattered  illusions,  which  can 
in  no  way  be  of  interest  to  any  but  the  one  in 
search  of  his  past,  and  of  purely  sentimental  impor 
tance  to  him.  It  is,  of  course,  a  common  form  of 
egotism  to  chronicle  such  small-beer  of  one's  origin, 
but  it  happens  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  my 
purpose. 

Enough  to  say  that  at  last  I  discovered  Fuller 
Place,  —  a  mean,  little  right-angled  street  that  led 
nowhere;  but  from  one  end  to  the  other  I  could 
not  find  my  old  home.  Its  site  must  now  be  occu- 

5 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

pied  by  one  of  those  ugly  five-story  apartment  boxes 
that  spring  like  weeds  in  old  towns  and  cities.  As  I 
lingered  in  front  of  the  brick  wall  that  I  judged  must 
very  nearly  cover  the  site  of  my  birthplace,  I  tried 
to  understand  the  sensation  of  utter  unfamiliarity 
with  which  the  whole  place  filled  me.  The  answer 
came  to  me  in  a  flash  as  I  turned  away  from  Fuller 
Place,  —  Clark's  Field  no  longer  existed !  Its  place 
was  completely  filled  by  the  maze  of  brick  and  mor 
tar  in  which  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour  I  had  lost 
myself.  There  was  nothing  surprising  that  after  a 
third  of  a  century  a  large,  vacant  field  should  have 
been  carved  up  into  streets,  alleys,  and  lots,  and  be 
covered  with  buildings  to  house  the  growing  popu 
lation  of  a  city.  It  is  one  of  the  usual  commonplaces 
in  our  American  cities  and  towns.  But  to  me  the 
total  disappearance  of  Clark's  Field  seemed  mo 
mentous.  That  large,  open  tract  near  my  old  home 
had  more  significance,  at  least  in  memory,  than  the 
home  itself.  It  was  intricately  interwoven  with  all 
the  imaginative  and  more  personal  life  that  I  had 
known  as  a  boy.  One  corner  of  the  irregular  open 
land  known  as  Clark's  Field  had  abutted  my  father's 
small  property  in  Fuller  Place,  and  I  and  my  older 
brothers  and  our  friends  had  taken  advantage  of 
this  fact  to  open  an  unauthorized  entrance  into  the 
Field  through  the  board  fence  in  the  rear  yard.  Over 
that  fence  lay  freedom  from  parental  control  and 
family  tasks,  and  there  was  also,  it  happened,  a  cer 
tain  bed  of  luscious  strawberries  which  we  regularly 

6 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

looted  until  the  market  gardener,  who  at  the  time 
leased  this  corner  of  Clark's  Field,  resigned  himself 
to  the  inevitable  and  substituted  winter  cabbages 
for  the  strawberries,  —  a  crop  he  had  never  been 
able  to  get  to  market. 

From  the  gardener's  beds  and  small  forcing- 
houses  the  land  stretched  away  unbroken  by  culti 
vation  or  building  to  that  Swan's  Hill  where  we 
coasted  and  farther  to  the  suburban  estates  of  sev 
eral  affluent  citizens,  —  I  presume  the  homes  of 
Stearns  and  Frost  of  stove  fame  and  others  no 
longer  remembered.  These  places,  with  their  stately 
trees  and  greenhouses  and  careful  lawns,  have  also 
been  merged  into  the  domain  of  brick  and  mortar 
and  concrete.  To  the  right  o^  the  market  garden, 
between  us  and  the  South  Road,  lay  the  level,  tree 
less  tract,  about  fifty  acres  in  extent,  which  was  spe 
cifically  known  as  Clark's  Field,  although  all  the 
unused  land  in  the  neighborhood  had  originally  be 
longed  to  the  Clark  farm.  The  Field  was  carefully 
fenced  in  with  high  white  palings,  —  too  high  for  a 
small  boy  to  climb  safely  in  a  hurry.  Certain  large 
signs,  at  the  different  corners,  averred  that  the  Field 
was  for  sale  and  would  be  divided  into  suitable  lots 
for  building  purposes,  and  also  that  trespassers  were 
so  little  desired  that  they  would  be  prosecuted  by 
law.  These  signs  were  regularly  defaced  with  stones 
and  snowballs  according  to  season,  and  were  as  regu 
larly  reerected  every  spring  by  the  hopeful  owner  or 
his  agent.  For  in  spite  of  its  difficult  paling  and 

7 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

warning  signs,  Clark's  Field  remained  our  favorite 
ball-field  and  recreation  spot  where  in  summer  we  dug 
caves  and  skated  when  the  autumn  rains  were  oblig 
ing  enough  to  come  before  the  frost.  I  suppose  that 
we  destroyed  the  signs  as  a  point  of  honor,  and  pre 
ferred  Clark's  Field  to  all  the  other  open  land  free  to 
us  because  we  could  see  no  reason  for  the  prohibi 
tion.  At  any  rate,  we  "trespassed"  upon  it  at  all 
hours  of  day  and  night,  and  many  a  time  have  I 
ripped  my  clothes  on  the  sharp  points  of  those  pal 
ings  in  my  breathless  haste  to  escape  some  real  or 
fancied  pursuit  by  one  in  authority.  We  had  not 
only  the  regular  police — the  "cops"-— to  contend 
with,  but  we  believed  that  old  man  Clark  employed 
private  watchmen  and  even  descended  to  the  mean 
habit  of  sneaking  about  the  Field  himself,  peering 
through  the  close  palings  to  snare  us.  There  must 
have  been  some  fire  in  all  this  smoke  of  memory,  for 
I  distinctly  recall  one  occasion  that  resulted  disas 
trously  to  me  and  has  left  with  me  such  a  vivid  pic 
ture  that  its  origin  must  have  been  real.  I  was  one 
of  the  younger  and  less  athletic  of  our  gang  and  had 
been  nabbed  by  the  fat  policeman  on  our  beat  and 
led  ignominiously  through  the  streets  of  Alton  by  the 
collar  of  my  coat,  —  not  to  the  police  station  in  the 
"Square,"  nor  to  my  father's  house  where  my  older 
brothers  had  often  been  brought  in  similar  disgrace. 
This  time  the  policeman,  with  the  ingenuity  of  a  Per 
sian  cadi,  took  me  through  the  public  streets  direct 
to  headquarters,  —  the  home  of  Mr.  Samuel  Clark. 

8 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

It  was,  I  believe,  the  only  occasion  on  which  I  ever 
met  the  owner  of  Clark's  Field,  certainly  the  only 
time  I  ever  had  speech  with  him;  not  that  there 
was  much  speech  from  me  then.  As  I  was  reluct 
antly  urged  up  the  long  graveled  drive  of  the  re 
spectable  wooden  house  near  the  Square,  I  saw  an 
old,  white-haired  man  getting  into  his  family  car 
riage  with  some  difficulty.  The  large,  heavy  person 
of  the  owner  of  Clark's  Field  seemed  to  me  a  very 
formidable  object  when  he  turned  upon  me  a  pair 
of  dark,  scowling  eyes  beneath  bushy  white  brows 
and  muttered  something  about  "bad  boys."  Those 
eyes  and  a  curious  trembling  of  the  heavy  limbs  — 
due  to  palsy,  I  suppose  —  are  the  only  things  I 
recollect  of  Samuel  Clark.  Nor  do  I  remember  what 
he  said  to  me  beyond  calling  me  a  bad  boy  or  what 
judgment  he  meted  out.  All  I  know  is  that  I  re 
turned  home  without  visiting  the  " lockup"  behind 
the  Square  and  became  the  subject  of  a  protracted 
and  animated  family  discussion.  My  mother,  unex 
pectedly,  took  my  part,  inveighing  against  the 
"ogre"  of  a  Clark  who  deprived  "nice"  boys  of  the 
enjoyment  of  his  useless  field,  and  urged  my  father, 
who  had  some  acquaintance  with  fact  as  well  as  with 
law,  to  "do  something  about  Clark's  Field."  My 
father,  I  think,  was  at  last  persuaded  to  visit  the 
owner  of  the  field  to  see  what  lawful  arrangements 
could  be  made  so  that  well-behaved  boys  might 
freely  and  honorably  use  the  Field  for  their  pleasure, 
until  it  should  be  disposed  of  to  builders.  (Which,  of 

9 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

course,  would  have  taken  from  it  every  shred  of 
charm!)  Whether  in  fact  he  made  some  such  ar 
rangement  I  cannot  remember,  nor  whether  having 
been  once  caught  I  was  sufficiently  intimidated  by 
my  visit  to  old  Clark.  All  I  know  is  that  as  long  as 
we  remained  in  Alton,  the  Field  continued  its  use 
less,  forlorn,  unoccupied  existence,  jealously  sur 
rounded  by  a  dilapidated  though  constantly  patched 
fence,  with  its  numerous  signs  inviting  prospective 
purchasers  to  consult  with  the  "owner"  -signs 
that  were  regularly  destroyed  by  succeeding  genera 
tions  of  boys.  Already  in  my  youth  the  busy  town 
was  growing  far  beyond  Clark's  Field,  along  the 
South  Road  towards  the  new  railroad  station;  but 
the  Field  remained  in  dreary  isolation  from  all  this 
new  life  until  long  after  I  had  left  the  town. 

As  I  have  said,  this  empty  field  of  fifty  acres  was 
the  most  permanent  experience  of  my  youth.  Its 
large,  level  surface,  so  persistently  offered  to  un 
willing  purchasers  of  real  estate,  seized  hold  of  my 
boyish  imagination.  I  invented  mysterious  reasons 
for  its  condition,  which  as  time  went  on  must  have 
been  influenced  by  what  I  heard  at  the  family  table 
of  the  Clarks  and  their  possessions.  Now  it  is  all  in 
extricably  woven  in  my  memory  into  a  web  of  fact 
and  fancy.  The  Field  stood  for  me  during  those  fer 
tile  years  as  the  physical  symbol  of  the  unknown, 
the  mysterious, — the  source  of  adventure  and  legend, 
—  long,  long  after  I  had  outgrown  childish  imagin 
ings  and  had  become  fully  involved  in  what  we  like 

10 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  call  the  serious  matters  of  life.  To-day  I  had  but 
to  close  my  eyes  and  think  of  Fuller  Place  and  my 
boyhood  there  to  see  that  lonely  field,  jealously 
hedged  about  by  its  fence  of  tall  white  palings,  — 
see  it  in  all  its  former  emptiness  and  mystery. 

Of  Clark's  Field  and  the  Clarks  I  mused  as  I  re 
traced  my  way  through  the  maze  of  living  that  had 
been  planted  upon  the  old  open  land.  All  this  close- 
packed  brick  and  mortar,  these  dull  streets  and  high 
business  buildings,  had  been  crowded  man-fashion 
into  the  free,  wind-swept  field  of  my  fancy.  Five 
thousand  people  at  least  must  now  be  living  and 
largely  have  their  being  on  our  old  playground,  — 
a  small  town  in  itself.  And  the  change  had  come 
about  in  the  last  fifteen  years  or  less.  How  had  it 
been  brought  to  pass?  Why  after  all  the  years  of 
idleness  that  it  had  endured  had  a  use  for  Clark's 
Field  been  found?  Something  must  have  broken 
that  spell  which  had  effectually  restrained  prospec 
tive  purchasers  of  real  estate  through  all  the  years 
when  the  city  was  pressing  on  beyond  this  point  far 
away  into  the  country.  . . .  The  facts  are  not  all  dime- 
novelish,  but  very  human  and  significant,  and  by 
chance  the  main  thread  of  the  real  story  of  Clark's 
Field  came  to  my  knowledge  shortly  after  my  visit, 
correcting  and  enlarging  the  impressions  I  had 
formed  from  family  gossip,  the  talk  of  playmates, 
and  my  own  imagination.  And  this  story  —  the 
story  of  Clark's  Field  —  I  deem  well  worth  setting 

forth 

ii 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

That  same  evening,  when  I  entered  the  city  hotel 
where  I  was  to  dine,  I  found  my  friend  walking  im 
patiently  up  and  down  the  lobby,  for  in  my  search 
for  the  past  I  had  forgotten  my  engagement  and  was 
late.  Scarcely  greeting  my  guest,  I  burst  out,  - 

"Edsall,  do  you  remember  Clark's  Field?"  (For 
Edsall  had  once  lived  in  Alton,  though  not  in  my 
part  of  the  town.) 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  somewhat  surprised  by  my 
breathless  eagerness.  "What  about  it?" 

" I  want  to  know  what  happened  to  it  and  why?" 

Edsall,  being  a  lawyer  with  a  special  interest  in 
real  estate,  could  tell  me  many  of  the  known  facts 
about  the  Clark  property  over  which  there  had  been 
some  curious  litigation.  So  the  story  grew  that 
evening  over  our  dinner,  to  be  filled  in  later  by  many 
details  that  came  to  me  unexpectedly,  —  I  suppose 
because  I  was  interested  in  the  fate  of  Clark's  Field. 


I 


THE  Clarks,  as  their  name  implies,  were  of  common 
English  blood,  originally  of  some  clerkly  tribe  and  so 
possessing  no  distinctive  patronymic.  These  Clarks 
were  ordinary  Yankee  farmers,  who  had  been  settled 
in  one  place  for  upwards  of  two  hundred  years. 
Very  likely  some  ancestor  of  my  old  Samuel  Clark 
had  stood  at  Concord  with  "the  embattled  farmers." 
I  know  not.  He  easily  could  have  done  so,  for  Alton 
was  not  many  miles  distant  from  the  battle  field. 
But  little  either  spiritual  or  militant  fervor  from 
these  Puritan  ancestors  seems  to  have  come  down 
to  Samuel,  who  in  1860  occupied  the  family  farm  of 
one  hundred  and  forty  acres,  "more  or  less,"  accord 
ing  to  the  loose  description  of  old  deeds.  Samuel, 
indeed,  had  not  enough  patriotism  to  sympathize 
with  his  son,  John  Parsons,  who  finally  ran  off  to  the 
war,  as  so  many  boys  did,  to  escape  the  monotony  of 
farm  life.  For  Samuel,  his  father,  was  a  plain,  ordi 
nary,  selfish,  and  not  very  thrifty  New  England 
farmer,  who  laid  down  his  fields  every  year  to  the 
same  crops  of  oats  and  rye  and  hay,  kept  a  few  sheep 
and  hogs  and  cows,  and  in  the  easy,  shiftless  way 
of  his  kind  drained  the  soil  of  his  old  farm,  with 
the  narrow  consolation  that  it  would  somehow  last 
his  time. 

13 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

So  little  ambition  he  had  that  shortly  after  his  son 
went  to  the  war,  thus  depriving  him  of  free  labor,  he 
11  retired"  from  his  farm,  —  that  is,  he  sold  what  he 
could  of  its  fields  and  pastures  and  bought  himself 
a  house  on  Church  Street  near  the  Square  in  Alton, 
probably  the  same  house  where  I  was  taken  for  my 
one  interview  with  him.  What  he  did  not  sell  of  the 
farm  he  rented  to  another  more  energetic  farmer, 
one  Everitt  Adams,  the  old  market-gardener  whom 
I  remembered.  Adams  with  more  thrift  and  the 
great  incentive  of  necessity  built  hothouses  and  went 
in  for  market -gardening  to  supply  the  wants  of 
the  neighboring  city,  which  was  already  making  it 
self  felt  upon  the  surrounding  country.  Hence  the 
long  rows  of  celery,  cabbage,  lettuce,  and  peas  that 
I  remember  across  my  father's  back  fence.  All  the 
near-by  farmers  were  doing  much  the  same  thing, 
turning  the  better  part  of  their  land  into  gardens. 
They  would  start  before  dawn  in  summer  time  for 
the  city,  making  their  way  along  the  South  Road, 
which  was  the  main  thoroughfare  into  this  part  of 
the  country.  Many  a  time  have  I  seen  their  cov 
ered  wagons  returning  from  the  city  about  the  time 
when  I  was  starting  for  school,  the  horses  wearily 
plodding  along  at  a  walk,  the  farmer  or  his  boy  asleep 
in  the  wagon  on  his  empty  crates. 

I  don't  know  what  sort  of  an  arrangement  old 
Clark  made  with  his  tenant,  but  Adams,  who  was 
a  hard-working  fellow  with  a  tribe  of  strong  chil 
dren,  must  have  found  the  business  profitable,  espe- 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

cially  after  he  built  the  forcing-houses  and  began  to 
supply  unseasonable  luxuries  to  the  prosperous  citi 
zens  of  B .  Prices  ran  high  in  the  years  of  the 

great  war,  and  those  farmers  who  stayed  at  home 
and  cultivated  their  gardens  industriously  made 
money  at  every  turn.  At  any  rate,  it  was  common 
knowledge  in  the  neighborhood  of  Fuller  Place  that 
Everitt  Adams  wished  to  purchase  Clark's  Field 
from  its  owner  —  the  last  piece  of  the  old  farm  that 
he  had  not  hitherto  disposed  of  —  and  had  the 
money  to  pay  for  it  in  the  River  Savings  Bank.  In 
deed,  gossip  said  that  the  price  was  agreed  upon,  — 
five  thousand  dollars,  —  which  was  considered  a  fair 
price  in  those  days  for  fifty  acres,  six  or  seven  miles 
from  the  city.  And  Samuel  Clark,  so  tradition  also 
says,  was  anxious  to  sell  his  last  field  for  that  price. 
His  son  had  returned  from  the  war  wounded  and 
incapable  of  work,  and  his  father  wanted  to  set  him 
up  in  a  small  shop  in  the  Square.  The  son,  in  spite 
of  his  invalidism,  married  shortly  after  his  return 
from  the  ranks  and  this  made  the  need  of  ready 
money  in  the  Church  Street  house  all  the  more 
urgent. 

Trouble  came  when  the  lawyer  employed  by  the 
market -gardener  discovered  what  old  Clark  must 
have  known  all  the  time,  and  that  is  that  the  Field 
had  a  cloud  upon  its  title,  or  rather  an  absolute 
restriction  which  would  render  worthless  any  title 
that  Samuel  might  give  alone.  To  explain  this  legal 
obstacle  we  must  go  back  before  the  war  and  my 

15 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

day  into  the  previous  generation.  There  had  been 
a  family  quarrel  between  Samuel  and  his  older 
brother,  which  had  resulted  finally  in  Edward  Stan 
ley  —  the  elder  son  —  going  off  to  seek  his  fortunes 
in  the  new  West,  which  was  attracting  young  men 
from  the  East  at  that  time.  This  was  in  1840  or 
thereabouts  when  Edward  S.  left  his  father's  home 
in  Alton,  and  nothing  more  had  been  heard  of  him 
except  the  vague  report  from  some  other  exile  from 
Alton  that  he  had  been  seen  in  Chicago  where  he 
had  become  a  carpenter,  and  it  was  said  had  mar 
ried.  Probably  Samuel,  who  was  then  a  young  man 
and  recently  married  with  two  little  children,  had 
no  great  desire  to  have  his  elder  brother's  existence 
recalled  to  his  father.  Everything  I  have  learned 
about  Samuel  confirms  the  impression  of  him  I  had 
as  a  boy,  that  he  was  not  the  kind  of  man  whose 
conscience  would  be  sensitive  in  such  matters.  He 
probably  considered  that  his  brother  Ed,  having 
taken  his  fate  in  his  hands,  should  expect  nothing 
from  the  more  timid  members  of  the  family  who  had 
stuck  by  the  old  farm.  But  when  the  elder  Clark 
died,  a  will  was  found  in  which  to  Samuel's  disgust 
an  undivided  half  interest  in  the  Field  —  the  best 
part  of  the  farm  —  was  left  to  his  eldest  son  and  his 
heirs. 

There  is  no  evidence  that  Samuel,  at  the  time  of 
his  father's  death,  ever  took  any  measures,  even  of 
the  most  casual  sort,  to  hunt  up  this  elder  brother  or 
find  out  if  he  had  left  any  children.  He  made  some 

16 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

sort  of  deal  with  a  younger  brother  who  could  not  be 
ignored  and  continued  to  work  the  old  farm,  living 
in  his  father's  house  on  Swan's  Hill.  Probably  a 
long  term  of  undisturbed  possession  of  the  farm  con 
vinced  him  that  he  was  the  sole  legitimate  owner 
of  the  property,  that  the  land  was  absolutely  and 
wholly  his  to  do  with  what  he  would.  And  so,  as  we 
have  seen,  in  his  old  age  he  tried  to  dispose  of  the 
Field  to  the  market -gardener  for  five  thousand  dol 
lars.  But  the  lawyer  raised  the  obvious  objection 
that  the  Field  could  not  be  sold  without  Edward's 
consent,  and  of  Edward  nothing  whatsoever  was 
known.  Some  attempt  was  made  at  this  time  by 
John  Clark  on  behalf  of  his  father  to  trace  the  miss 
ing  Edward — a  feeble  attempt.  He  wrote  to  an  army 
friend  in  Chicago,  who  found  evidence  that  Edward 
S.  Clark,  a  carpenter,  had  lived  in  the  city  for  five 
or  six  years  and  had  moved  thence  to  St.  Louis.  No 
trace  of  him  could  be  found  in  St.  Louis,  where  John 
also  wrote  to  the  postmaster.  At  that  time,  it 
should  be  remembered,  St.  Louis  was  the  port  of  de 
parture  for  the  little-known  West,  and  possibly  Ed 
ward  and  his  family  had  taken  boat  up  the  Missouri 
and  gone  on  to  the  distant  gold  fields  or  had  merely 
drifted  out  into  the  neighboring  prairie  country 
and  stuck  in  some  nook.  It  was  all  speculation. 
Nothing  further  of  Edward  Stanley  Clark  was  ever 
known  by  either  Samuel  or  his  son  John.  He  never 
announced  himself  to  his  Eastern  relatives. 

But  Samuel  could  not  sell  the  Field.   Old  Adams 

17 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

was  altogether  too  shrewd  to  spend  five  thousand 
dollars  upon  a  property  that  had  such  an  uncer 
tainty  about  its  title,  and  in  those  days  the  lawyers 
whose  advice  they  were  able  to  get  could  not  suggest 
a  satisfactory  way  of  evading  the  difficulty.  No  such 
thing  as  a  title  guaranty  company  had  ever  been 

heard  of  in  the  old  Commonwealth  of  M .  There 

was  nothing  to  do  but  wait  in  the  hope  that  either 
information  about  Edward  S.  would  be  forthcoming 
some  day  or  that  in  time  the  law  could  be  invoked 
to  gloss  over  the  title.  But  Samuel,  in  hope  of  in 
ducing  some  gullible  purchaser  to  run  the  risk,  had 
the  Field  carefully  fenced  and  put  signs  upon  it. 
For  he  needed  the  money,  and  needed  it  more  as  the 
years  went  by  and  John's  invalidism  turned  into 
chronic  laziness  and  incapacity  for  earning  a  liveli 
hood.  Everitt  Adams  moved  away  after  a  time  and 
his  successors  who  leased  the  Field  were  never  satis 
factory.  There  were  taxes  and  assessments  to  be 
met,  which  grew  all  the  time  with  the  rising  value 
of  adjacent  land,  as  well  as  lawyer's  fees.  The  in 
come  from  the  small  part  of  the  Field  now  under 
cultivation  was  hardly  adequate  to  meet  these,  and 
after  a  time  this  income  ceased  altogether  and  the 
Field  became  an  absolute  burden.  For  nobody 
seemed  willing  either  to  rent  or  buy  the  property. 

Of  course,  the  son  John,  if  he  had  had  the  energy, 
might  have  followed  old  Adams's  example  and  worked 
the  Field  for  a  time,  until  the  gas  and  sewer  mains 
had  corrupted  the  soil  and  spoiled  it  for  market 

18 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

gardening.  But  he  preferred  to  rely  upon  his  record 
as  an  old  soldier  and  secured  a  small  clerkship  in  the 
Alton  Gas  Company,  and  some  years  later  obtained 
a  pension.  Of  course,  all  this  trouble  with  the  Field 
supplied  both  him  and  his  father  with  ample  cause  for 
grumbling.  Samuel  had  never  liked  his  brother  Ed 
ward,  who  seemed  almost  spitefully  to  be  turning  this 
trick  against  him  in  his  old  age,  and  he  handed  on  his 
grievance  to  John  and  his  wife.  The  small,  wooden 
house  in  Church  Street  contained  a  narrow,  ungra 
cious  family  life,  it  can  be  seen,  of  petty  economies 
and  few  interests.  No  wonder  that  the  Field  —  the 
one  important  family  possession  remaining  —  be 
came  the  favorite  topic  of  discussion  and  specula 
tion.  The  city  was  growing  fast,  and  Alton  was 
already  its  most  considerable  suburb.  The  lines  of 
modern  life  had  crept  up  to  within  call  of  the  old 
Field  before  the  death  of  Samuel.  So  the  old  fellow 
was  not  indulging  in  much  exaggeration  when  he 
bragged  towards  the  end  that  he  would  n't  take 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  for  his  property,  al 
though  ten  years  earlier  he  had  been  eager  to  sell  for 
five  thousand  dollars! 

That  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  however,  was  as 
far  away  as  the  five  thousand,  and  the  life  in  the 
Church  Street  house  was  more  penurious  and  un 
comfortable  than  it  had  ever  been  on  the  old  farm, 
which  had  provided  a  coarse  plenty  for  many  genera 
tions.  The  Clarks  were  obviously  running  out,  and 
when  the  old  man  died  in  1882  he  must  have  had  the 

19 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

bitter  consciousness  that  the  family  destiny  had 
dwindled  in  his  hands.  From  being  prosperous  and 
respected  fanners,  living  on  their  own  land  in  their 
ancestral  square  wooden  house  with  its  one  enormous 
chimney,  they  were  living  in  real  poverty  in  a  small 
house  on  a  dusty  side  street  off  the  noisy  Square, 
which  was  not  what  it  had  once  been  as  a  place  of 
residence.  And  they  did  not  even  own  this  Church 
Street  house  —  merely  clung  to  it  from  inertia  and 
bad  habit.  The  only  thing  they  did  own  was  Clark's 
Field,  and  Mrs.  John  sometimes  thought  it  would 
be  better  if  that  had  gone  the  way  of  the  rest  of  the 
Clark  farm,  so  insidious  was  its  moral  influence 
upon  the  men  as  well  as  costly  in  the  way  of  outgo. . .  . 
If  a  man's  accomplishment  in  this  life  is  to  be  reck 
oned  by  the  substantial  gains  he  has  made  on  his 
father's  estate  and  condition,  old  Samuel  Clark  had 
nothing  to  be  proud  of  when  he  was  borne  to  his 
grave  in  the  new  cemetery  a  mile  south  of  Clark's 
Field.  He  had  left  nothing  to  his  children  but  the 
Field,  encumbered  with  the  undivided  and  indivisi 
ble  half  interest  belonging  to  his  brother  Edward 
Stanley,  were  he  alive  at  this  date,  and  to  his  heirs 
if  he  had  any. 


II 


THE  possession  of  property  of  any  kind  gives  a  cu 
rious  consciousness  of  dignity  to  the  human  being 
who  is  its  owner,  due  very  likely  to  the  traditional 
estimate  of  the  importance  of  all  possessions,  and  to 
the  mystical  but  generally  erroneous  belief  that 
property  is  in  some  way  an  outward  and  visible 
proof  of  the  worth  or  the  ability  of  its  possessor  — 
or  his  forbears.  Even  the  possession  of  a  possibility 
such  as  Clark's  Field  —  which  was  of  no  positive 
value  to  the  Clarks,  and  indeed  an  increasing  source 
of  expense  and  anxiety  to  the  impoverished  family, 
as  taxes  rose  in  company  with  the  rise  of  all  values 
—  conferred  upon  the  Clarks  some  small  considera 
tion  in  Alton  and  made  them  feel  the  dignity  and  the 
tragedy  of  property  ownership.  John,  who  was  noth 
ing  but  a  seedy,  middle-aged  clerk,  none  too  careful 
of  his  appearance  and  uneasily  aware  of  his  failure, 
had  ample  excuse  to  himself  for  his  shortcomings 
and  willingness  to  live  on  a  kind  Government,  be 
cause  he  had  been  hardly  used  by  fate  in  the  mat 
ter  of  his  inheritance.  As  the  property  that  might 
have  been  his  was  just  beyond  his  reach,  he  had 
a  small  swagger  of  superiority  in  the  gas  office,  and 
the  tradition  was  well  established  there  that  he  be 
longed  to  a  family  "land  poor,"  —  the  most  genteel 

21 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

form  of  poverty  if  any  form  of  poverty  can  be  gen 
teel.  Even  old  farmer  Samuel  had  tottered  about 
the  Square  on  his  malacca  stick  and  exchanged  the 
time  of  day  with  the  small  merchants  there,  with  a 
sense  of  his  own  importance  as  the  owner  of  "  a  valu 
able  piece  of  property"  temporarily  under  legal 
disability. 

As  for  the  women  of  the  family  this  sense  of  un 
realized  importance  grew  tenfold  in  their  conscious 
ness,  because  they  had  few  opportunities  of  en 
countering  reality  in  their  narrow  lives  and  because 
as  women  they  were  apt  to  dream  of  wealth,  even 
of  visionary  wealth.  It  cannot  be  said  that  Clark's 
Field  had  much  to  do  with  John's  marriage  which 
had  taken  place  in  'sixty-seven,  because  at  that 
early  date  it  was  not  considered  a  large  expecta 
tion  even  by  the  Clarks.  But  John  had  a  younger 
sister,  Ada  or  "Addie"  Clark  as  she  was  always 
known,  and  over  Addie's  destiny  Clark's  Field  had  a 
large  and  sinister  influence  as  I  shall  presently  show. 
At  the  time  when  her  father  finally  abandoned  his 
farm  in  favor  of  town  life,  Addie  was  a  mere  child, 
so  young  that  she  could  forget  the  wholesome  pic 
tures  of  domestic  farm  industry  that  she  must  have 
shared.  Or,  if  there  lingered  in  the  background  of 
her  memory  a  consciousness  of  her  mother's  butter- 
making,  feeding  the  pigs,  cooking  for  the  occasional 
farm  hands,  washing  and  mending,  and  all  the  other 
common  tasks  of  this  laborious  condition,  she  con 
veniently  ignored  it  as  women  easily  contrive  to  do. 

22 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Her  life  was  centered  in  the  Church  Street  house 
where  the  Clarks  had  at  first  indulged  in  certain  pre 
tensions.  Addie  had  gone  to  the  Alton  schools  and 
there  associated  with  the  better  class  of  children,  - 
a  doctor's  daughter  and  a  retired  bank  clerk's  fam 
ily  being  the  more  intimate  of  these.  As  a  young 
girl  she  had  a  transparent  complexion  and  a  thin 
sort  of  American  prettiness  that  unfortunately 
quickly  faded,  under  the  influences  of  the  Church 
Street  house,  into  a  sallow  commonplaceness.  But 
Addie  unlike  the  men  of  the  family  never  wholly 
abandoned  her  aspirations  and  ambitions.  She  was 
very  careful  about  the  young  men  whom  she  "  en 
couraged,"  and  the  families  into  whose  houses  she, 
would  enter.  Thus  she  sacrificed  her  slim  chances  of 
matrimony  on  the  altar  of  a  visionary  family  pride. 
One  of  her  high-school  mates,  the  son  of  the  pros 
perous  liveryman  in  Alton,  might  have  married  her 
had  he  been  more  warmly  met,  and  taken  her  with 
him  to  Detroit,  where  in  time  he  became  the  well- 
to-do  head  of  a  large  automobile  manufactory.  This 
was  not  the  single  instance  of  her  family  pride. 

It  is  a  fascinating  subject  to  speculate  what  would 
have  happened  to  Ada  if  she  had  had  the  moral  vigor 
to  shake  herself  loose  from  the  hampering  family 
traditions  of  riches  to  be,  and  struck  out  for  an  inde 
pendent,  wholesome  life  as  women  have  been  known 
to  do  under  similar  circumstances.  But  Alton,  like 
most  old  towns,  had  strong  class  traditions  that  exer 
cised  an  iron  influence  upon  feminine  destinies.  It 

23 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

was,  of  course,  hopeless  for  Ada,  the  daughter  of  a  re 
tired  farmer  who  could  not  sell  his  farm,  to  come  into 
close  social  contact  with  the  local  aristocracy,  which 
consisted  at  this  time  of  the  Stearns  and  Frost  re 
lationship  together  with  a  few  well-to-do  merchants 

from  B who    had  always  lived  in  Alton  and 

owned  those  large  semi-suburban  estates  in  its  en 
virons.  But  at  least  she  could  jealousy  guard  herself 
from  falling  into  the  mire  of  the  commoner  sort  of 
small  shopkeepers  who  were  pressing  into  the  Square. 
The  end  was  that  Addie  fast  became  what  was  then 
called,  without  any  circumlocution,  an  "old  maid," 
and  an  uninteresting  one,  whose  days  were  occupied 
by  church  and  gossip,  and  who  went  over  and  over 
the  threadbare  family  tradition.  Old  Mrs.  Clark, 
her  mother,  was  a  realist  and  never  forgot  the  farm 
days.  She  was  enough  of  a  woman  to  regret  sin 
cerely  the  fatal  mistake  that  the  family  had  made 
in  trying  to  become  something  other  than  their  des 
tiny  had  fitted  them  to  be.  She  was  a  thorn  in  the 
sentimental  flesh  of  Addie,  whose  thoughts  preferred 
to  play  with  the  dignities  and  ease  that  would  be 
hers  when  the  Field  had  been  sold.  Addie  dressed 
herself  as  finely  as  she  could  on  Sundays  and  in  the 
afternoons  would  walk  down  the  South  Road  past 
the  abandoned  Field  and  remark  to  a  friend  upon 
the  family  property  and  the  misfortune  that  kept 
them  all  down  in  the  depths  of  poverty.  As  the  years 
went  on  and  the  price  of  real  estate  advanced,  her 
tale  sounded  less  ridiculous  than  it  might.  But  it 

24 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

was  a  bloodless  sort  of  consolation  even  for  Addie, 
and  all  her  friends  knew  the  story  by  heart  and  lis 
tened  to  it  merely  with  kind  indulgence.  "A  bird 
in  the  hand,"  etc.,  is  a  proverb  peculiarly  to  the  lik 
ing  of  Yankees.  They  do  not  take  much  interest  in 
Peruvian  mines  or  other  forms  of  non-negotiable 
wealth  unless  they  see  a  chance  to  work  them  off  on 
a  more  credulous  public.  As  for  old  Mrs.  Clark, 
when  she  became  tied  to  her  chair,  she  was  bitter  on 
the  topic.  "That  dratted  old  Field !  "  she  would  say 
with  the  brutal  directness  of  the  realist;  "your 
father  would  have  sold  the  whole  of  it  for  five  thou 
sand  dollars  and  been  thankful!"  — a  fact  that 
seemed  to  her  children  of  no  importance. 

When  the  old  woman  was  laid  away  in  Woodlawn 
beside  her  husband,  Addie  could  give  free  rein  to  her 
fancies,  untroubled  by  the  darts  of  the  realist.  But 
the  family  fortunes  soon  became  most  desperate. 
Fortunately  John  had  no  children,  his  one  small  son 
having  died  as  a  baby.  His  wife,  who  had  perhaps 
become  tired  of  the  family  fortune  as  it  never  quite 
realized  itself,  tried  to  prod  her  shiftless  husband 
into  a  greater  activity.  But  except  for  the  getting 
of  the  pension,  which  was  put  through  in  1885,  John 
added  little  to  the  family  purse,  and  before  his  moth 
er's  death  lost  his  position  in  the  gas  office,  a  new  ad 
ministration  of  the  company  holding  that  a  municipal 
utility  was  not  an  asylum  for  old  soldiers.  The  trou 
ble  was,  as  Mrs.  John  knew,  and  as  Ada  always  re 
fused  to  recognize,  John  drank.  At  first  it  was  a 

25 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

convivial  weakness  indulged  in  only  at  the  reunions 
of  old  veterans,  —  John  was  a  most  ardent  "  Vet," 
—  but  it  became  a  habit  that  took  away  his  little 
usefulness  for  anything.  So  now  the  family  for 
steady  income  was  reduced  to  the  pension,  which 
was  only  twenty-two  dollars  a  month.  Clearly  some 
thing  had  to  be  done.  Mrs.  John  took  in  lodgers  in 
the  Church  Street  house,  a  clerk  or  two  from  the 
neighboring  shops.  And  Addie  finally  brought  her 
self  to  learn  the  manipulation  of  the  typewriter, 
which  was  fast  becoming  a  woman's  profession,  and 
found  a  position  in  a  large  store  in  the  city. 

It  would  seem  that  the  Clark  fortunes  had  reached 
their  lowest  ebb:  family  extinction  was  all  that  now 
remained  for  them.  The  Church  Street  house  rested 
solely,  save  for  the  small  pension,  on  the  exertions 
of  two  ineffective  women.  It  could  just  get  on  as  it 
was,  and  if  the  family  life  had  never  been  a  bright 
and  cheerful  one,  it  was  now  drearier  than  ever. 
Then  Addie  married.  She  was  nearly  if  not  quite 
forty  years  old,  and  neither  her  brother  nor  sister- 
in-law  expected  such  an  event.  She  was  sallow, 
thin,  and  rather  querulous  in  temperament.  Very 
likely  Addie  felt  that  marriage  could  not  make  her 
lot  worse,  and  as  middle-age  threatened,  she  ac 
cepted  the  defeat  of  her  ambitions  and  in  the  spirit 
of  better-late-than-never  struck  out  for  herself  in 
the  race  for  personal  happiness,  throwing  over  the 
burden  of  Clark's  Field. 

At  any  rate,  she  was  married  to  William  Scarp,  a 

26 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

fellow-clerk  in  Minot  Brothers  —  wholesale  wool. 
Addle  represented  that  Mr.  Scarp  was  of  excellent 
Southern  blood  from  somewhere  in  North  Caro 
lina.  It  is  needless  to  enter  into  that  nebulous  ques 
tion.  He  was  earning  thirty  dollars  a  week  with 
Minot  Brothers  when  they  became  engaged  and  was 
a  few  years  younger  than  his  bride.  The  firm  gave 
him  a  five-dollar  increase  of  salary  on  his  marriage, 
old  Savage  remarking  facetiously  that  he  believed  in 
rewarding  courage.  The  couple  went  to  live  in  the 
city,  and  for  a  year  or  two  they  moved  nomadically 
from  one  boarding-house  or  cheap  hotel  to  another. 
It  may  be  presumed  that  Addie,  without  any  clear 
idea  of  deceiving,  had  misled  William  Scarp  in  the 
matter  of  Clark's  Field  —  her  fixed  delusion.  The 
Field  made  this  marriage,  and  it  was  not  a  happy 
one.  The  John  Clarks,  who  still  hung  on  in  the 
Church  Street  house  with  an  additional  roomer, 
soon  began  to  suspect  that  Addie  was  not  wholly 
happy  in  her  married  life.  William  had  a  quick 
temper  and  was  very  plain-spoken  about  the  "job" 
that  Addie  had  "put  over  him"  in  the  matter  of  the 
Clark  property,  though  in  fact  she  had  exercised  no 
more  mendacity  than  women  of  forty  in  her  posi 
tion  are  wont  to  do.  At  one  time  shortly  after  the 
marriage  Scarp  had  an  "understanding"  with  John 
Clark  about  the  family  estate.  When  he  learned 
that  the  Field  could  not  be  sold  in  the  present  state 
of  its  title  and  that  such  leases  as  had  been  made  of 
it  to  meet  taxes  and  other  obligations  tied  it  up  until 

27 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  opening  of  the  next  century,  he  expressed  himself 
abusively.  Later  he  suggested  that  a  "syndicate" 
should  be  formed  to  employ  lawyers  to  straighten 
out  the  title  and  dispose  of  the  property  piecemeal 
as  the  leases  fell  in.  It  seemed  a  brilliant  plan, 
quite  modern  in  its  sound,  but  alas!  William,  no 
more  than  John,  could  finance  the  " syndicate."  So 
the  suggestion  lapsed,  and  the  Scarps  worried  along 
on  William's  salary  for  a  time,  and  then  moved  to 
Philadelphia.  What  Addie's  experiences  were  there, 
or  in  Cincinnati  and  Indianapolis,  to  which  cities 
they  also  wandered,  I  have  no  means  of  knowing, 
nor  did  the  John  Clarks  hear  from  her,  except  for  a 
rare  penciled  postcard.  The  Clarks,  as  may  be  ob 
served,  were  no  great  letter- writers. 

All  is  that  one  day  in  November  of  1889,  Addie 
arrived  at  the  Church  Street  house  with  a  forlorn 
parcel  of  a  little  girl  and  a  bedraggled  bag  that  con 
tained  her  entire  worldly  possessions.  She  was  ill 
and  old.  She  would  say  little  about  her  husband, 
but  later  it  came  out  in  the  newspapers  that  William 
Scarp  had  been  convicted  of  forgery  and  sent  to 
prison  in  Indiana  (where  he  died  soon  after  of  con 
sumption  contracted  in  prison).  Addie  had  come 
back  to  the  only  human  refuge  she  knew.  She  was 
too  ill  and  too  beaten  by  life  to  work.  She  sat  around 
in  the  Church  Street  house  dumbly  for  nearly  a  year, 
then  died,  leaving  the  forlorn,  pale  little  girl  to  her 
brother  and  sister-in-law  as  a  legacy.  This  child  she 
had  named  Adelle,  thus  proving  the  persistence  of 

28 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

her  fancy  even  in  her  forlornest  hours.  Ada  or  Ad- 
die  was  too  common  for  the  last  of  the  Clarks.  She 
should  at  least  have  something  poetic  for  name.  For 
who  could  say?  She  might  some  day  become  an 
heiress  and  shine  in  that  social  firmament  so  much 
desired  by  her  mother.  In  that  event  she  should 
not  be  handicapped  by  a  vulgar  name.  As  Addie 
had  resumed  her  maiden  name  after  Scarp  had  been 
sent  to  prison,  the  little  girl  was  destined  to  grow  up 
as  Adelle  Clark,  —  the  last  member  of  the  Alton 
branch  of  the  Clarks,  ultimate  heiress  to  Clark's 
Field,  should  there  be  anything  of  it  left  to  inherit 
when  the  law  let  go. 

The  silent  little  girl,  who  played  about  the  lodgers' 
rooms  in  the  dingy  Church  Street  house,  was  of  course 
unaware  of  the  weight  of  expectation  hanging  to  her. 
She  was  almost  abnormally  silent,  perhaps  because 
of  her  depressing  prenatal  experiences  as  well  as  the 
forlorn  environment  of  the  rooming-house, —  per 
haps  because  of  physical  and  spiritual  anaemia. 
"She's  a  puny  mite  of  a  child,"  Mrs.  John  Clark 
said  complainingly,  unpromising  like  everything 
Clark;  nevertheless,  the  last  of  the  sturdy  yeoman 
stock  of  Clarks. 


Ill 


THAT  "weight  of  expectation"  hanging  to  the  little 
girl  was  not  quite  as  fantastic  as  might  seem.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  old  Samuel  before  his 
death,  in  pressing  need  of  ready  money  to  finance 
some  foolish  venture  of  his  son,  had  leased  a  good 
part  of  Clark's  Field  to  some  speculative  builders, 
who  had  covered  that  portion  of  the  old  pasture 
that  bordered  the  South  Road  with  a  leprous  growth 
of  cheap  stores,  which  brought  in  a  fair  return.  The 
leases  ran  up  to  the  new  century.  Just  why  this 
precise  term  for  the  gambling  venture  had  been 
chosen  probably  only  the  lawyers  who  made  the 
arrangement  could  say.  Possibly  old  Samuel  had 
superstitious  reasons  for  not  pledging  the  family  ex 
pectation  beyond  the  present  century.  He  may 
have  thought  that  the  turn  of  the  century  would 
bring  about  some  profound  change  in  the  customs 
and  habits  of  society  that  the  family  could  take  ad 
vantage  of.  At  any  rate,  so  it  was.  And  it  was  not 
many  years  now  to  the  close  of  the  century  when 
Clark's  Field  would  be  released  to  its  original  owners 
with  all  its  shabby  encumbrances. 

The  field  had  gained  enormously  in  value  and  im 
portance  in  men's  eyes  these  last  years.   The  city  of 

B had  eaten  far  into  the  country,  creating  pros- 

30 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

perous  appendages  in  the  way  of  modern  suburbs 
for  twenty  miles  and  more  from  Alton,  and  there 
was  much  talk  of  its  annexing  the  old  town  to  itself, 
which  it  accomplished  not  long  after.  Those  were 
the  days  of  the  "greater"  everything,  the  worship 
of  size.  Alton  in  fact  was  now  a  city  itself  of  no  mean 
size,  and  the  shallow  stream  of  water  that  nominally 

divided  it  from  B was  a  mere  boundary  line. 

As  men  had  multiplied  upon  this  spot  of  earth,  need 
ing  land  for  dwelling  and  business,  envious  eyes  had 
been  cast  upon  the  Field,  the  last  large  "undevel 
oped  "  tract  anywhere  near  the  great  city.  Men  who 
were  skillful  in  such  real  estate  "deals,"  greedy  and 
ingenious  in  the  various  ways  of  turning  civic  growth 
to  private  profit,  were  figuring  upon  the  possibility 
of  getting  hold  of  Clark's  Field,  when  the  short  leases 
expired,  and  after  making  the  necessary  "improve 
ments"  cutting  it  up  for  sale.  They  saw  fat  profits 
in  the  transaction.  Men  needed  it  for  their  lives; 
the  community  needed  it  for  its  growing  corporate 
life.  And  yet  it  was  "tied  up"  with  a  legal  disabil 
ity  —  left  largely  useless  and  waste.  It  looked  as 
if  when  the  legal  spell  was  finally  broken,  as  it  must 
be,  and  the  land  so  long  unprofitable  and  idle  should 
be  apportioned  to  these  human  needs,  it  would  be 
neither  the  Clarks  nor  the  community  that  would 
derive  benefit  from  it,  —  certainly  not  the  people 
who  would  live  upon  it,  —  but  some  gang  of  skill 
ful  speculators,  who  knew  the  precise  moment  to 
take  advantage  of  the  mechanism  of  the  law  and 

31 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

more  uncertain  mechanism  of  human  nature  so  as 
to  obtain  for  a  small  amount  what  they  could  sell  to 
others  for  much.  The  crisis  in  the  history  of  Clark's 
Field  seemed  approaching. 

It  was  time.  The  fence  of  high  white  palings  that 
Samuel  had  jealously  maintained  about  his  old  field 
had  long  since  completely  disappeared.  Latterly 
the  neighbors  crisscrossed  the  vacant  portions  of  the 
Field  with  short  cuts  and  contractors  either  dumped 
refuse  upon  it  or  burrowed  into  it  for  gravel.  The 
sod  had  long  since  been  stripped  from  every  foot  of 
its  surface.  In  a  word,  it  was  treated  as  no  man's 
land,  so  low  had  the  Clark  family  sunk  in  the  world. 
And  it  was  covered  with  a  cloud  of  invisible  disabili 
ties,  further  than  the  original  difficulty  created  by 
Edward  S.  in  not  leaving  an  address  behind  him. 
There  were  liens  against  it  by  the  city  for  improve 
ments  in  the  way  of  gas  and  sewer  and  water  pipes, 
and  for  taxes,  as  well  as  first,  second,  and  third 
mortgages  of  a  dubious  character  that  John  in  ex 
tremity  had  been  forced  to  put  upon  the  Field  in 
order  to  " carry"  his  expectation.  Under  this  bur 
den  of  invisible  lien  as  well  as  outward  degradation 
Clark's  Field  had  struggled  until  1898,  and  the  ulti 
mate  doom  was  not  far  off.  John  thought  so  and 
struggled  less  to  preserve  his  inheritance.  What  he 
owned  of  the  Field  was  a  diminishing  fraction,  long 
since  negligible,  were  it  not  for  the  marvelous  in 
crease  in  all  real-estate  values,  due  to  the  growth  of 
population  in  these  parts  and  the  activity  of  the 

32 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

country.  It  was  rumored  about  the  Square  that 
Clark's  Field  would  shortly  be  sold  for  taxes,  and  a 
tax  title,  poor  as  that  is,  would  probably  be  the  best 
title  that  could  ever  be  got  for  the  Field.  Capital 
ists  and  their  lawyers  were  already  figuring  on  that 
basis  for  the  distribution  of  the  property.  .  .  . 

But  before  we  concern  ourselves  in  the  plot  of 
these  greedy  exploiters,  it  would  be  well  to  go  back 
for  a  time  to  the  dingy  Church  Street  house  and  the 
pale  little  Adelle,  who  was  now  in  her  twelfth  year. 
Her  ancestors,  certainly,  had  done  little  for  her  phy 
sical  being.  She  was  a  plain,  small  child,  with  not 
enough  active  blood  in  her  apparently  to  make  a 
vivid  life  under  any  circumstances.  She  was  meek 
and  self-effacing,  —  two  excellent  virtues  for  certain 
spheres,  but  not  for  a  poor  child  in  America  at  the 
opening  of  the  new  century!  Her  earliest  impres 
sions  of  life  must  have  been  the  dusty  stairs  and  torn 
stair  carpet  of  her  aunt's  house,  defaced  under  the 
dirty  feet  of  many  transient  "  roomers,"  and  next  her 
aunt  herself,  a  silent,  morose  woman  over  fifty,  who 
accepted  life  as  nearly  in  the  stoic  spirit  as  her  edu 
cation  permitted.  Mrs.  John  Clark  had  none  of 
Addie's  cheap  pretentions,  fortunately:  she  was  ob 
viously  the  poor  woman  with  a  worthless  husband, 
who  kept  cheap  lodgings  for  a  livelihood.  She  was 
kind  enough  to  the  little  girl  as  such  people  have 
the  time  and  the  energy  to  be  kind.  She  could  not 
give  her  much  thought,  and  as  soon  as  Adelle  was 
old  enough  to  handle  a  broom  or  make  beds  she  had 

33 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  help  in  the  endless  housework.  At  eight  she  was 
sent  to  school,  however,  to  the  public  school  close 
by  in  the  rear  of  the  livery-stable,  where  she  learned 
what  American  children  are  supposed  to  learn  in  the 
grade  schools.  At  twelve  she  was  a  small,  under 
sized,  poorly  dressed,  white-faced  little  girl,  so  little 
distinctive  in  any  way  that  probably  hundreds  ex 
actly  like  her  could  be  picked  from  the  public  schools 
of  any  American  city.  If  this  story  were  a  mere 
matter  of  fiction,  we  should  be  obliged  to  endow 
Adelle  with  some  marks  of  exceptionality  of  person, 
or  mind,  or  soul,  —  evident  to  the  discerning  reader 
even  in  her  childhood.  She  would  already  possess 
the  rudiments  of  an  individuality  under  her  Cin 
derella  outside,  —  some  poetic  quality  of  day-dream 
ing  or  laughing  or  sketching.  But  this  is  a  plain 
chronicle  of  very  plain  people  as  they  actually  found 
themselves  in  life,  and  it  is  not  necessary  to  embel 
lish  the  truth  so  that  it  may  please  any  reader's 
sensibilities  or  ideals.  Adelle  Clark  was  a  wholly 
ordinary,  dumb  little  creature,  neither  passionate 
nor  spiritual.  She  laughed  less  than  children  of  her 
age  because  there  was  not  much  in  her  experience  to 
laugh  about.  She  talked  less  —  much  less  —  than 
other  little  girls,  because  the  Church  Street  house 
was  not  a  place  to  encourage  conversation.  She  liked 
her  aunt  rather  better  than  her  uncle,  who  was  an 
untidy,  not  to  say  smelly,  person,  who  sat  dozing 
in  the  kitchen  much  of  the  time,  a  few  strands  of 
long  gray  hair  vainly  trying  to  cover  the  baldness  of 

34 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

a  blotchy  head.  His  principal  occupation  these 
latter  years  was  being  a  "Vet."  He  was  a  faithful 
attendant  at  all  "post  nights,"  "camp-fires,"  and 
veteran  "reunions,"  and  when  in  funds  visited 
neighboring  posts  where  he  had  friends.  On  his  re 
turn  from  these  festivities  he  was  smellier  and  stu- 
pide^  than  ever, —  that  was  all  his  small  niece  real 
ized.  He  never  did  any  work,  so  far  as  she  was 
aware,  but  as  his  wife  had  accepted  the  fact  and  no 
longer  discussed  it  in  public,  the  little  girl  did  not 
think  much  about  his  idleness.  That  might  be  the 
man-habit  generally. 

Adelle  was  in  her  thirteenth  year  and  in  the  last 
grade  of  her  school  when  she  first  began  to  notice 
the  presence  of  some  strangers  in  the  Church  Street 
house.  She  was  not  an  observant  child,  and  there 
was  such  a  succession  of  "roomers"  in  the  house 
that  a  stranger's  face  aroused  little  curiosity.  But 
these  men  were  better  dressed  than  any  roomers  and 
talked  in  tones  of  authority  and  conscious  position. 
They  held  long  conversations  with  her  uncle  and 
aunt  in  the  dining-room  behind  closed  doors,  and 
once  she  saw  a  bundle  of  papers  spread  out  upon 
the  table.  These  days  her  uncle  and  aunt  talked 
much  about  titles,  mortgages,  deeds,  and  other 
matters  she  did  not  understand  nor  ask  about.  But 
she  felt  that  something  important  was  astir  in  the 
Church  Street  house,  as  a  child  realizes  vaguely 
such  movements  outside  its  own  sphere.  Once  one 
of  the  men,  who  was  putting  on  his  silk  hat  in  the 

35 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

hall  and  preparing  to  leave  the  house,  inquired,  "Is 
that  the  girl?"  To  which  question  her  uncle  and 
aunt  answered  briefly,  "Yes."  The  tone  of  the 
stranger  was  exactly  as  if  he  had  asked,  "Is  that 
the  bundle  of  clothes  we  were  talking  about?" 

Something  was  afoot  of  momentous  importance 
to  Adelle,  as  we  shall  shortly  discover.  Fate  once 
more  in  the  person  of  a  feeble  Clark  was  about  to 
play  her  an  unkind  trick.  For  John,  reduced  to 
complete  incompetence  by  his  life  and  his  habit  of 
drink,  pestered  by  the  accumulating  claims  upon 
Clark's  Field,  had  consented  to  an  "arrangement" 
that  certain  capitalists  had  presented  to  him  through 
their  lawyers.  They  had  urged  him  to  sell  to  them 
all  the  remaining  equity  that  he  held  in  the  prop 
erty,  giving  a  quitclaim  deed  for  himself  and  his  wife 
and  for  Adelle,  whose  legal  guardian  he  was.  The 
purchasers  would  assume  all  the  liabilities  of  the 
encumbered  Field,  the  risk  of  title,  and  for  this 
complete  surrender  of  the  family  interest  in  Clark's 
Field,  John  Clark  was  to  receive  the  sum  of  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  all  told  in  cash.  It  was  five 
times  what  his  father  had  been  anxious  to  get  for  the 
same  property,  as  the  lawyers  pointed  out,  when 
John  in  the  beginning  talked  large  about  the  great 
possibilities  of  his  Field.  It  was  true,  so  they  said, 
that  the  property  had  increased  in  value  in  the  last 
twenty  years,  but  so  had  the  encumbrances  in 
creased,  and  there  was  always  the  danger  of  expen 
sive  litigation  and  loss  due  to  the  cloudy  title,  even 

36 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

after  the  lapse  of  fifty  years  since  the  disappear 
ance  of  Edward  S.  They  could  not  see  their  way  to 
offering  another  dollar  for  the  dubious  gamble  before 
them,  so  they  said.  And  for  this  twenty-five  thou 
sand  dollars  in  ready  money,  all  the  family  expecta 
tions  were  to  be  cashed  in,  all  the  hopes  of  Samuel, 
the  pretensions  of  Addie,  the  desires  and  needs  of 
John  and  his  wife,  not  to  mention  the  future  of  the 
small  Adelle.  John  hesitated.  .  .  . 

In  the  end  he  was  convinced,  or  his  desire  for  some 
ready  money  overcame  his  scruples.  His  wife,  who 
was  perhaps  agreeably  surprised  to  find  that  the 
Clark  expectations  had  any  cash  value,  counseled 
him  to  accept  the  offered  terms.  No  doubt,  she  ad 
mitted,  the  lawyers  were  probably  doing  them;  that 
was  the  way  of  lawyers.  But  they  had  no  money  to 
spend  on  other  lawyers  to  find  a  better  bargain  or  to 
engage  in  the  speculation  upon  the  Field  themselves. 
As  for  hanging  on  to  Clark's  Field,  the  family  had 
had  enough  of  that.  "A  bird  in  the  hand,"  etc.  So 
the  numerous  papers  were  drawn  and  John  even 
touched  a  small  advance  payment.  Adelle  remem 
bered  the  discussions  —  not  to  say  quarrels  —  be 
tween  her  uncle  and  aunt  over  the  use  to  which  they 
should  put  the  Clark  fortune  when  it  should  finally 
be  theirs.  John  was  for  moving  away  from  Alton  alto 
gether,  which  was  not  what  it  had  been  once  for  resi 
dence  he  said.  He  talked  of  going  into  the  country 
and  buying  a  farm.  His  wife,  who  remembered  how 
he  had  scorned  to  work  the  old  Clark  farm  when  it 

37 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

was  a  paying  possibility,  smiled  grimly  at  his  talk. 
She  wanted  to  take  a  larger  house  in  the  neighbor 
hood,  furnish  it  better,  and  bid  for  a  higher  class  of 
roomers.  Hers  was,  of  course,  the  more  sensible 
plan.  They  were  still  discussing  their  plans,  and  the 
lawyers  were  taking  their  time  about  preparing  the 
interminable  series  of  legal  papers  that  seemed  nec 
essary  when  the  great  Grand  Army  Encampment  of 
1900  came  off  in  Chicago.  John,  who  had  been  ob 
liged  latterly  to  forego  these  annual  sprees,  resolved 
to  attend  the  reunion  of  his  old  comrades  and  "  to  go 
in  style."  For  this  purpose  he  obtained  a  small  sum 
from  the  prospective  purchasers  of  Clark's  Field, 
who  were  only  too  ready  to  get  him  further  com 
mitted  to  their  bargain  by  a  payment  down  and  a 
receipt  on  account,  —  on  condition,  of  course,  that 
he  sign  an  agreement  to  sell  the  property  when  the 
necessary  formalities  could  be  satisfied.  So  he 
signed  with  an  easy  flourish  the  simple  agreement 
presented  to  him,  pocketed  two  hundred  dollars,  and 
bought  a  new  suit  of  clothes  with  a  black-felt  vet 
eran's  hat,  the  first  he  had  had  in  many  years. 
When  Adelle  watched  him  strut  down  Church  Street 
on  the  way  to  the  train  one  hot  July  morning,  splen 
did  in  his  new  uniform  with  his  white  gloves  and 
short  sword  under  his  arm,  she  did  not  know  that  she 
herself  had  contributed  to  this  piece  of  self-indul 
gence  her  last  right  to  a  share  in  the  Clark  posses 
sion,  —  her  one  inheritance  of  any  value  from  her 
mother.  Very  possibly  she  would  not  have  said  any- 

38 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

thing  had  she  known  all  the  facts,  had  she  been  old 
enough  to  realize  the  significance  of  that  signature 
her  uncle  had  given  the  lawyers  a  few  days  before. 
Probably  she  would  have  accepted  this  act  of  fate 
as  meekly  as  she  had  all  else  in  her  short  life.  For 
it  must  be  clearly  understood  that  the  signature  was 
irrevocable.  No  change  of  mind,  no  sober  second 
thought  coming  into  John's  cloudy  mind,  would  be 
of  any  use.  A  contract  of  sale  is  as  binding  under 
such  circumstances  as  the  deed  itself. 

Adelle  felt  an  unconscious  relief  in  the  absence  of 
her  uncle  from  the  house.  There  was  an  end  to  the 
disputes  about  the  money,  and  his  unpleasant  person 
no  longer  occupied  the  best  chair  in  the  kitchen. 
Her  aunt  also  seemed  to  be  more  cheerful  than  was 
her  wont.  It  was  the  slack  season  in  the  rooming 
business,  and  so  the  two  had  some  spare  time  on 
their  hands  in  the  long  summer  days  and  could  daw 
dle  about,  an  unusual  luxury.  They  even  went  to 
walk  in  the  afternoons.  Her  aunt  took  Adelle  to  see 
Clark's  Field,  —  a  forlorn  expanse  of  empty  land 
with  a  fringe  of  flimsy  one-story  shops  along  its  edge 
that  did  not  attract  the  child.  She  never  remem 
bered,  naturally,  what  her  aunt  told  her  about  the 
Field,  but  she  must  have  learned  something  of  its 
story  because  she  always  had  in  her  mind  a  sense  of 
the  importance  of  this  waste  and  desolate  city  field. 
In  her  childish  way  she  got  a  vague  notion  of  some 
great  wrong  that  had  been  done  about  the  land  so 
that  her  uncle  was  smelly  and  stupid  and  her  aunt 

39 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

had  to  take  in  more  roomers  than  she  liked.  That 
was  as  close  to  the  facts  as  she  could  get  then  —  as 
close,  it  may  be  said,  as  many  people  ever  get.  .  .  . 
Then  they  went  to  look  at  houses,  a  more  inter 
esting  occupation  to  the  child.  Her  aunt  seemed 
much  concerned  in  the  comparative  size  and  loca 
tion  and  number  of  rooms  of  different  houses  and  this 
Adelle  could  understand.  The  family  was  going  to 
move  sometime  from  the  Church  Street  house.  .  .  . 
In  these  simple  ways  the  two  passed  a  quiet  vaca 
tion  of  ten  days.  Then  came  a  telegram,  and  three 
days  later  arrived  the  remains  of  Veteran  John 
Clark,  accompanied  by  members  of  the  local  G.A.R. 
post  who  had  brought  back  the  body  of  their  dead 
comrade.  John  Clark  had  kept  his  boasting  word  to 
his  wife  that  "this  time  he  would  show  the  boys  a 
good  time  and  prove  to  'em  that  his  talk  about  his 
property  wasn't  all  hot  air!"  He  had  in  truth 
shown  himself  such  a  good  time  that  he  could  not 
stand  a  spell  of  excessively  hot  weather,  to  which  he 
succumbed  like  a  sapped  reed.  A  very  considerable 
funeral  was  arranged  and  conducted  by  the  mem 
bers  of  G.A.R.  Post  Number  I  of  Alton,  to  which 
John  Clark  had  belonged.  There  was  a  military  band 
and  the  post  colors,  and  a  number  of  oldish  men  in 
blue  uniforms  trailed  behind  the  hearse  all  the  way 
to  the  cemetery  where  the  veteran  was  laid  away  in 
the  lot  with  his  mother  and  father.  Little  Adelle, 
riding  in  the  first  carriage  with  her  aunt,  observed 
all  this  military  display  over  the  dead  veteran,  and 

40 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

concluded  that  she  had  done  her  uncle  an  injustice 
during  his  life.  It  seemed  that  he  was  really  a  much 
more  important  person  than  she  had  supposed  him 
to  be.  This  burial  was  the  last  benefit  poor  John 
Clark  received  from  a  grateful  country  for  that  spurt 
of  patriotism  or  willfulness  that  had  led  him  to  run 
away  from  the  Clark  farm  to  the  war  forty  years 
before. 

And  here  really  concludes  the  history  of  the  Clarks 
in  the  story  of  Clark's  Field.  For  Adelle,  upon  whom 
the  burden  of  the  inheritance  was  to  fall,  was  only 
half  a  Clark  at  the  most,  and  had  largely  escaped 
the  deadly  tradition  of  family  expectations  under 
which  Addie  had  been  blighted ;  while  her  aunt,  of 
course,  had  no  Clark  blood  in  her  veins  and  had 
been  cured  of  the  Clark  habit  of  expecting. 


IV 


IT  may  easily  be  imagined  that  the  veteran's  un 
timely  death  at  the  Grand  Army  Reunion  caused 
more  uneasiness  in  certain  other  quarters  than  it  did 
in  the  Church  Street  house,  where  John's  going  had 
its  mitigations.  The  lawyers  who  had  arranged  the 
purchase  of  the  Clark  interest  in  the  great  Field  did 
not  really  fear  that  their  plans  for  the  cheap  capture 
of  the  property  would  ultimately  miscarry.  But 
John's  death  must  cause  further  delay,  which  might 
possibly  be  improved  by  other  interested  specula 
tors.  And  so  the  legal  representatives  of  the  capi 
talists  concerned  in  the  ''deal"  constituted  them 
selves  at  once  friends  and  advisers  of  the  widow. 
They  assured  her  that  a  mere  formality  must  be  sat 
isfied  before  she  could  actually  touch  her  husband's 
estate,  and  promised  to  attend  to  the  legal  matters 
without  expense  to  her,  it  being  understood,  of 
course,  that  whenever  the  law  allowed  she  should 
carry  out  her  husband's  agreement  to  sell  the  Clark 
interest  in  the  Field.  They  even  went  so  far  as  to 
offer  further  small  advances  to  the  widow  if  she 
found  herself  in  immediate  need.  But  this  the 
widow  resolutely  refused.  She  was  becoming  a 
little  suspicious  of  so  much  thoughtful  kindliness 
from  these  lawyers,  whom  after  the  prejudice  of  her 

42 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

sort  she  was  wont  to  regard  as  human  harpies.  She 
had  her  widow's  pension  and  her  roomers,  and  her 
expenses  would  be  considerably  lessened  by  the 
death  of  the  incompetent  veteran,  who  would  no 
longer  be  begging  money  for  his  "reunions." 

There  was,  of  course,  Adelle.  Her  uncle  had  been 
her  legal  guardian  and  as  such  had  intended  to  sell 
her  interest  in  the  Field  for  a  pittance.  The  lawyers 
assumed  that  her  aunt  would  be  appointed  by  the 
probate  court  to  the  empty  honor  of  guardianship. 
Otherwise  they  regarded  her,  as  everybody  always 
did,  as  entirely  negligible.  And  she  so  regarded  her 
self.  The  lawyers  were  prompt  in  having  the  guard 
ianship  question  brought  up  in  the  probate  court 
for  settlement  first.  It  was  introduced  there  as  a 
motion  early  in  the  fall  term  of  court,  the  papers  be 
ing  presented  to  the  judge  by  the  junior  member 

of  the  distinguished  firm  of  B lawyers,  Bright, 

Seagrove,  and  Bright.  Any  other  judge,  probably, 
would  have  scribbled  his  initials  then  and  there  upon 
the  printed  application  for  guardianship,  —  the  af 
fair  being  in  charge  of  such  eminent  counsel, — and 
there  must  have  been  an  end  altogether  to  Adelle 's 
expectations  and  of  this  story.  That  was  what  the 
lawyers  naturally  expected.  But  this  judge,  after 
a  hasty  glance  or  two  at  the  application,  took  the 
matter  under  advisement. 

"Of  course  the  old  boy  had  to  sleep  upon  it!" 
young  Bright  reported  to  the  senior  members  of 

the  firm.  The  lawyers  of  B were  accustomed 

43 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  make  fun  of  Judge  Orcutt  or  grumble  about  his 
ways  of  doing  things.  He  was  certainly  different 
from  the  ordinary  run  of  probate  judges  or  of  all 
judges  for  that  matter.  The  smart  law  firms  that 
had  dealings  with  him  professed  to  consider  him  a 
poor  lawyer,  but  everybody  knows  that  eminent 
lawyers  usually  have  a  poor  opinion  of  the  ability 
of  judges.  They  reason  that  if  the  judges  had  their 
ability,  they  would  not  be  poorly  paid  judges,  but 
holding  out  their  baskets  for  the  fat  fruit  falling 
abundantly  from  the  corporation  trees. 

It  should  be  said  that  the  law  was  not  Judge  Or- 
cutt's  first  love:  probably  was  not  his  supreme  mis 
tress  at  any  time.  Perhaps  for  that  very  reason  he 
made  a  better  probate  judge  —  a  more  human  judge 
—  than  any  of  the  smart  lawyers  could  have  made. 
The  little  gray-haired  judge  was  a  poet,  and  not  an 
unpublished  poet.  I  will  not  stop  to  pass  judgment 
on  those  thin  volumes  of  verse,  elegantly  printed 
and  bound,  that  from  time  to  time  appeared  in  the 
welter  of  modern  literature  with  the  judge's  name. 
The  judge  was  fonder  of  them,  no  doubt,  and  per 
haps  prouder  of  them  than  Bright,  Seagrove,  and 
Bright  are  of  their  large  retainers.  And  I  believe 
that  the  published  volumes  of  verse,  and  the  un- 
printed  ones  within  his  heart  and  brain,  made  Judge 
Orcutt  an  altogether  sounder  judge  than  if  he  had 
mused  in  his  idle  hours  upon  the  law  or  upon  corpora 
tion  fees.  He  was  one  of  those  rare  judges,  who  even 
after  twenty  years  of  forms  —  motions  and  pleas 

44 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  precedents  —  could  never  wholly  forget  the  in 
dividual  human  being  behind  the  legal  form. 

And  so  in  this  trivial  matter  of  appointing  a  guar 
dian  for  a  poor  girl,  the  probate  judge  could  not  ig 
nore  Adelle  in  the  mass  of  legal  verbiage  through 
which  such  things  are  done.  Who  was  this  Adelle 
Clark?  and  what  sort  of  person  was  this  aunt  who 
seemed  willing  and  anxious  to  assume  the  legal  and 
moral  guardianship  of  the  minor?  An  aunt  by  mar 
riage  only,  was  n't  it?  Yes,  by  marriage  he  assured 
himself  after  consulting  again  the  stiff  paper  form 
that  the  lawyers  had  properly  filled  out ;  and  he  gave 
one  of  those  funny  little  quirks  to  his  eye  which  he 
did  when  not  wholly  satisfied  with  a  "proposition" 
presented  to  him.  And  here  was  the  characteristic 
difference  between  Judge  Orcutt  and  any  other  pro 
bate  judge.  He  speculated  —  maybe  for  only  the 
better  part  of  ten  seconds  —  but  he  speculated  upon 
the  entity  of  the  small  human  being  that  had  fallen 
within  the  bounds  of  his  court.  Was  it  really  for  this 
little  girl's  best  good  to  let  this  aunt  by  marriage 
take  charge  of  her?  Did  any  hocus-pocus  contriv 
ing,  with  which  he  had  become  only  too  familiar,  lie 
beneath  this  innocent  application? 

Probably  at  this  point  the  poet  judge  would  have 
dismissed  the  matter  from  speculation  and  signed 
the  papers  as  he  usually  did,  very  much,  after  all, 
like  any  other  judge,  with  an  additional  sigh  because 
he  could  never  really  discover  all  the  necessary  facts. 
But  another  observation  held  his  pen.  The  paper 

45 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

V 

had  been  brought  to  him  by  young  Bright,  of  Bright, 
Seagrove,  and  Bright  —  a  notable  firm  of  lawyers, 
but  not  one  famous  for  their  charitable  practice. 
Why  should  Bright,  Seagrove,  and  Bright  interest 
themselves  in  procuring  the  guardianship  of  a  poor 
girl?  Ah,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  this  is  where  the  em 
inent  counsel  "fell  down"  badly,  as  young  Bright 
said.  They  should  have  sent  an  office  boy  with  the 
papers  or  let  the  aunt  go  there  alone  to  see  the 
judge!  For  Judge  Orcutt,  after  another  moment  of 
frowning  meditation,  threw  the  document  into  that 
basket  which  contained  papers  for  further  considera 
tion.  Had  the  girl  expectations  of  property?  He 
would  inquire,  at  least  have  the  girl  and  her  aunt 
into  his  court  and  get  a  good  look  at  them  before 
performing  his  routine  function  of  initialing  the  legal 
form.  Poet  that  he  was,  he  prided  himself  much  on 
his  powers  of  penetration  into  human  motives,  when 
he  had  his  subject  before  him.  .  .  . 

For  this  reason  Adelle  and  her  aunt  were  notified 
that  they  should  appear  before  His  Honor.  The 
lawyers  told  Mrs.  Clark  that  the  visit  to  the  probate 
court  was  a  mere  formality,  —  meant  nothing  at  all. 
But  under  their  breaths  they  cursed  Judge  Orcutt 
for  a  meddlesome  old  nuisance,  which  would  not 
have  worried  him.  Adelle  and  her  aunt,  got  up  in 
their,  best  mourning,  accordingly  appeared  before 
the  probate  judge,  who  at' the  moment  was  hearing 
a  case  of  non-support.  So  they  waited  in  the  dim, 
empty  courtroom,  while  the  judge,  ignoring  their 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

presence,  went  on  with  the  question  of  whether  John 
Thums  could  pay  his  wife  three  dollars  a  week  or 
only  two-fifty.  At  last  he  settled  it  at  three  dollars 
and  beckoned  to  Mrs.  Clark  and  the  little  girl  to 
come  forward  and  courteously  inquired  their  busi 
ness.  Ignoring  the  officious  young  lawyer,  who  was 
there  and  tried  to  shufHe  the  matter  through,  Judge 
Orcutt  asked  both  Adelle  and  her  aunt  all  sorts  of 
questions  that  did  not  always  seem  to  the  point.  He 
appeared  to  be  curious  about  the  family  history. 
Mr.  Bright  fumed.  However,  it  was  all  going  well 
enough  until  Mrs.  John  blurted  out  something  about 
the  girl's  share  of  the  money  that  was  coming  to 
them.  At  the  word  "money"  the  judge  pricked  up 
his  ears.  In  his  court  certainly  money  was  the  root 
of  much  evil  as  well  as  of  pain.  What  money?  Was 
the  little  girl  an  heiress?  From  the  blundering  lips 
of  honest  Mrs.  Clark  the  story  tumbled  out,  under 
the  judge's  expert  questioning,  exactly  as  it  was. 
At  the  conclusion,  with  one  significant  scowl  at  the 
uncomfortable  Mr.  Bright,  the  judge  gathered  to 
himself  all  the  papers,  saying  that  he  should  give  the 
matter  further  consideration  and  disappeared  into 
his  private  chamber.  The  two  Clarks  returned  to 
Alton  much  mystified. 

Young  Mr.  Bright  remarked  to  his  superiors,  on 
his  return  to  the  office,  that  he  thought  "there  will 
be  the  devil  to  pay!"  And  there  was.  Of  this  the 
little  girl  and  her  aunt  knew  nothing  except  that  an 
other  legal  difficulty  had  been  discovered  and  that 

47 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  lawyers  did  not  seem  as  genial  and  happy  as  they 
had  before.  Thus  a  week  slipped  past,  and  then 
they  were  again  summoned  to  the  probate  court  and 
taken  into  the  judge's  private  chamber  behind  the 
courtroom. 


V 


A  GOOD  deal  had  happened  in  a  quiet  way  during 
these  seven  days  that  had  much  influence  upon  the 
fate  of  Clark's  Field  and  of  Adelle  Clark.  Up  to  this 
time  Judge  Orcutt  had  never  heard  of  Clark's  Field 

or  of  the  Clarks.  Relived  on  the  other  side  of  B , 

in  the  country,  and  was  not  much  of  a  gossip.  But 
he  had  ways  of  finding  out  about  what  was  going  on 
when  he  wanted  to.  A  word  lightly  cast  forth  at  the 
club  table  where  he  always  lunched,  and  he  could  get 
a  clue  to  almost  anything  of  current  interest.  And 
that  noon,  after  he  had  first  seen  Mrs.  Clark  and  her 
niece,  my  friend  Edsall  happened  to  be  at  the 
judge's  table.  Orcutt  asked  him  what  he  knew  about 
the  Clark  property  in  Alton.  Edsall  happened  to 
know  almost  all  of  importance  that  has  been  told 
here  and  more.  He  knew  of  the  movement  on  foot 
to  develop  the  property,  so  long  held  in  idleness,  but 
he  did  not  know  who  were  the  persons  interested. 
He  could  find  out.  He  did  so,  and  within  the  week 
he  had  given  the  probate  judge  the  outline  of  as 
pretty  a  story  of  cheap  knavishness  as  the  judge 
had  come  across  for  years. 

"  No  one  can  say  what  the  property  is  worth  now," 
Edsall  reported,  "but  it  must  be  millions." 

"Millions!"  the  judge  growled.  "And  they're 

49 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

trying  to  get  it  from  an  old  woman  and  a  girl  for 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars." 

"A  plain  steal,"  the  real  estate  man  remarked. 

"Sculduggery —  I  smelt  it!"  laughed  the  judge. 

One  of  the  first  results  of  this  was  that  Mr.  Os 
mond  Bright,  senior  member  of  Bright,  Seagrove, 
and  Bright,  was  invited  to  call  upon  Judge  Orcutt 
in  his  chambers,  and  there  received  probably  the 
worst  lecture  this  eminent  corporation  lawyer  ever 
took  from  any  man.  He  blustered,  of  course,  and  de 
fended  his  clients  on  the  ground  that  they  were  tak 
ing  a  great  risk  with  the  title,  which  was  unsound, 
etc.,  etc.  The  poet  judge  dealt  him  a  savage  look 
and  curtly  advised  him  to  withdraw  at  once  from 
the  position  of  counsel  to  the  men  involved  in  this 
shady  transaction;  at  least  never  to  appear  in  his 
court  in  the  guardianship  case.  (It  may  be  said  here 
that  the  firm  did  withdraw  from  the  case,  as  there 
was,  in  their  words,  "nothing  doing."  But  not 
much  was  accomplished,  for  another  equally  emi 
nent  and  unscrupulous  firm  of  lawyers  was  employed 
the  next  day  and  went  to  work  in  a  more  devious 
manner  to  get  hold  of  the  Field.) 

Next  the  judge  de,  voted  half  an  hour  to  medita 
tion  over  the  fate  of  Adelle  Clark,  more  time  than 
any  one  in  her  whole  career  hitherto  had  given  to 
consideration  of  her.  It  was  clear  enough  to  him 
that  Mrs.  John  Clark,  honest  woman  though  she 
appeared  to  be,  could  not  cope  with  the  situation 
that  must  present  itself.  Nor,  of  course,  could  the 

50 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

girl.  The  nefarious  agreement  to  sell  out  all  the 
Clark  equity  in  the  Field  which  John  Clark  had  exe 
cuted  prior  to  his  departure  for  the  Grand  Army  Re 
union,  and  which  Judge  Orcutt  had  forced  the  elder 
Bright  to  produce,  was  evidence  enough  that  the 
little  girl  needed  some  strong  defender  if  she  were 
not  to  be  fleeced  utterly  of  her  property.  For  she 
was  heir  now  to  nearly  three  fourths  of  what  the 
Clark  estate  might  bring,  and  her  aunt  to  the  re 
maining  portion  —  so  said  the  law.  But  who  could 
be  found,  modern  knight,  honest  and  disinterested 
and  able  enough  to  take  upon  his  shoulders  the  diffi 
cult  defense  of  the  girl's  rights? 

Judge  Orcutt  had  not  been  greatly  impressed  by 
the  appearance  of  the  girl.  She  was  nearly  fourteen 
now,  and  seemed  to  the  discriminating  taste  of  the 
judge  to  be  a  quite  ordinary  young  girl  with  a  rather 
common  aunt.  Nevertheless  that  must  not  enter 
into  the  question:  she  had  her  rights  just  as  much  as 
if  she  had  been  all  that  his  poet's  heart  might  desire 
a  young  girl  to  be !  Rights  —  a  curious  term  over 
which  the  judge  often  stumbled.  Had  she  any  more 
real  right  to  the  property  than  the  sharks  who  were 
trying  to  steal  it  from  her?  Who  had  any  right  to 
this  abandoned  field  that  for  fifty  years  had  been 
waiting  for  an  absent  heir  to  announce  himself?  Did 
it  really  belong  to  the  Public?  When  he  got  thus  far 
in  his  speculation,  the  judge  always  pulled  himself 
up  with  a  start.  That  was  n't  his  business.  He  was 
bound  to  administer  the  antiquated  and  curious  sys- 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

tern  of  laws  concerning  the  bequest  of  property  with 
a  serious  sense  of  their  sacredness  whether  he  felt  it 
or  not.  They  seemed  to  be  an  essential  part  of  the 
crazy  structure  of  society  that  must  not  be  ques 
tioned,  least  of  all  by  a  probate  judge!  If  men  had 
devised  these  unreal  rules  and  absurd  regulations, 
probably  there  was  some  divine  necessity  for  them 
beyond  his  human  insight.  Judge  Orcutt  never  got 
farther  than  this  point  in  his  speculations.  With  a 
sigh  he  dropped  the  Clark  case,  and  the  next  morn 
ing  sent  for  the  two  women  to  appear  in  his  court. 
It  did  not  take  him  long  this  time  to  discover  that 
they  were  singularly  without  good  friends  or  ad 
visers.  They  had  no  known  relatives,  no  one  who 
could  be  expected  to  take  a  friendly  interest  in  their 
affairs  and  trusted  to  manage  the  business  wisely. 
In  earlier  days  Judge  Orcutt  would  have  tried  to 
find,  in  such  a  case,  some  able  and  scrupulous  young 
lawyer  to  perform  the  necessary  function,  somebody 
like  himself  who  would  have  a  chivalrous  regard  for 
the  defenseless  condition  of  the  two  women.  Either 
that  breed  of  lawyers  had  run  out,  or  the  judge  was 
becoming  less  confiding.  For  latterly,  since  the  intro 
duction  of  trust  companies,  he  had  more  than  once 
put  such  cases  in  charge  of  these  impersonal  agents. 
Trust  companies  were  specially  designed  to  meet 
two  pressing  human  wants,  —  permanence  and 
honesty.  They  might  not  always  be  efficient,  for 
they  were  under  such  strict  legal  supervision  that  they 
must  always  take  the  timid  course,  and  they  charged 

52 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

highly  for  their  services.  But  they  could  not  very 
well  be  dishonest,  nor  die !  They  would  go  on  for 
ever,  at  least  as  long  as  there  was  the  institution  of 
private  property  and  an  intricate  code  of  laws  to 
safeguard  it.  Thus  the  judge  argued  to  himself  again 
in  considering  the  plight  of  these  Clarks,  and  de 
cided  to  use  the  Washington  Trust  Company  of 
B ,  whose  officers  he  knew.  .  .  . 

After  explaining  all  this  in  simple  terms  to  Mrs. 
Clark,  he  proposed  to  her  that  her  niece's  interest  in 
the  Clark  estate  should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of 
the  trust  company  rather  than  hers,  if  they  would 
accept  such  an  involved  guardianship  as  Adelle 
Clark's  promised  to  be. 

"You  know,  my  good  woman,"  he  said  in  con 
clusion,  "you  must  be  careful  in  this  matter."  (The 
judge's  manner  towards  "ordinary  people"  was 
aristocratically  condescending,  and  he  considered 
the  rooming-house  keeper  very  ordinary.)  "Of 
course,  you  understand  that  I  —  that  this  court  — 
has  no  control  whatever  over  your  acts.  You  can  if 
you  like  carry  out  your  husband's  intention  and 
convey  to  these  parties  all  your  interest  in  his  estate. 
But  I  cannot  permit  you  to  jeopardize  the  interests 
of  this  minor,  who  is  a  ward  of  my  court,  by  convey 
ing  her  share  of  the  estate  to  them  on  any  such  terms 
as  they  propose." 

"I'm  sure,"  Mrs.  John  Clark  mumbled  in  an  ag 
grieved  tone,  "I  had  no  idea  of  doing  any  harm  to 
the  girl." 

53 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"No,  of  course  not,  my  good  woman.  But  you 
don't  understand.  As  I  have  told  you,  it  looks  as  if 
there  might  be  some  money,  considerable  money, 
coming  to  you  and  to  her  from  this  land  when  the 
title  is  straightened  out,  and  you  don't  want  to  do 
anything  foolish  now." 

"I  s'pose  not,"  Mrs.  Clark  assented,  somewhat 
dubiously.  The  "good  woman"  had  heard  of  this 
bonanza  to  come  from  Clark's  Field  when  the  title 
was  made  right  for  so  many  years  that  she  was  hu 
manly  anxious  to  touch  a  tangible  profit  at  once. 
But  she  knew  only  too  well  that  her  husband  was  a 
poor  business  man  and  probably  the  judge  was  right 
in  telling  her  not  to  sell  the  Field  yet.  The  probate 
judge  seemed  to  take  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  them 
for  a  gentleman  of  his  importance.  So  she  listened 
respectfully  to  what  he  went  on  to  say. 

"You  can  do  whatever  you  like,  as  I  said.  But  if 
you  should  decide  to  dispose  of  your  husband's  es 
tate  as  he  intended,  your  niece's  representative 
might  be  forced  to  oppose  you,  which  would  add  an 
other  bad  complication  to  the  legal  troubles  of 
Clark's  Field,  and  necessarily  defer  the  time  when 
either  of  you  could  sell  the  land  or  derive  an  ade 
quate  return  from  it." 

He  paused  after  this  polite  threat,  to  let  the  idea 
sink  in. 

" I'm  sure  she  and  me  don't  want  to  fight,"  Mrs. 
Clark  quickly  replied  with  a  touch  of  humor,  and  the 
first  expression  that  the  judge  had  seen  upon  the 

54 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

little  girl's  mute  face  appeared.  A  smile  touched  her 
lips,  flickered  and  went  out.  She  sat  stiffly  beside 
her  aunt  in  the  judge's  great  leather  chair,  —  a  pale, 
badly  dressed  little  mouse  of  a  girl,  who  did  not 
seem  to  understand  the  conversation. 

"Well,  then,  I  take  it  you  will  be  guided  in  your 
actions  about  your  estate  by  the  advice  of  your 
niece's  guardian,  whom  I  shall  appoint." 

He  explained  to  them  what  a  trust  company  was, 
and  said  that  he  hoped  to  get  the  Washington  Trust 
Company  to  undertake  the  guardianship  of  the 
little  girl.  Then  he  dismissed  them,  appointing  an 
other  meeting  a  week  hence  when  they  were  to  re 
turn  for  final  settlement  of  the  matter.  So  they  left 
the  judge's  chambers.  The  girl  neither  dropped  a 
curtesy,  as  the  judge  would  have  thought  suitable, 
nor  gave  him  another  smile,  nor  even  opened  her 
lips.  She  faded  out  of  his  chambers  after  her  black 
aunt  like  a  pale  winter  shadow. 

The  judge  thought  she  showed  a  deplorable  lack 
of  breeding.  He  was  conscious  that  he  had  prob 
ably  saved  a  fortune  for  the  girl  by  all  the  pains  he 
was  taking  in  this  matter  and  felt  that  at  least  com 
mon  politeness  was  his  due.  But  one  was  never  paid 
for  these  things  except  by  a  sense  of  duty  generously 
performed.  What  was  duty?  And  off  the  judge  went 
into  another  thorny  speculation  that  would  have 
made  Bright,  Seagrove,  and  Bright  laugh,  and  they 
were  not  inclined  to  laugh  either  at  or  with  Judge 
Orcutt  these  days.  For  in  the  words  of  the  junior 

55 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

member,  this  old  maid  of  a  probate  judge  had  cut 
them  out  of  the  fattest  little  piece  of  graft  the  office 
had  seen  in  a  twelvemonth!  If  judges  had  been 

elective  in  the  good  old  Commonwealth  of  M , 

Judge  Orcutt's  chances  of  reelection  would  have 
been  slim,  for  Bright,  Seagrove,  and  Bright  had 
strange  underground  connections  with  the  politi 
cians  then  governing  the  city.  Perhaps  the  poet  in 
the  judge  would  have  rejoiced  at  such  a  misadven 
ture  and  profited  thereby.  As  it  was,  whenever 
Bright,  Seagrove,  and  Bright  had  business  in  the 
probate  court,  which  was  not  often,  they  got  other 
lawyers  to  represent  them.  Even  "eminent  coun 
sel"  shrink  from  appearing  before  a  judge  who 
knows  their  real  character. 


VI 


ADELLE  was  not  really  unresponsive  to  the  judge's 
kindness.  She  liked  the  polite  old  gentleman,  —  old 
to  fourteen  because  of  the  grizzled  mustache,  - 
and  was  for  her  deeply  impressed  by  her  visits  to  the 
probate  judge's  chambers.  It  was  the  first  real  event 
in  her  pale  life,  that  and  her  uncle's  funeral,  which 
seemed  closely  related.  They  made  the  date  from 
which  she  could  reckon  herself  a  person.  What  im 
pressed  her  more  than  the  austere  dignity  of  the 
judge's  private  rooms,  with  their  prints  of  famous 
personages,  lined  bookcases,  and  rich  furniture,  was 
Judge  Orcutt  himself.  He  was  the  first  gentleman 
she  had  ever  met  in  any  real  sense  of  the  word. 
And  Judge  Orcutt  was  very  much  of  a  gentleman  in 
almost  every  sense  of  the  word.  He  came  from  an 
old  Puritan  family,  as  American  families  are  reck 
oned,  which  had  had  its  worthies  for  a  young  man  to 
respect,  and  its  traditions,  not  of  wealth  but  of  cul 
ture  and  breeding,  kindly  humanity,  and  an  interest 
in  life  and  letters.  Something  of  this  aristocratic  in 
heritance  could  be  felt  in  his  manners  by  the  two 
women  who  were  not  of  his  social  class  and  who  were 
treated  with  an  even  greater  consideration  than  if 
they  had  been.  Adelle  liked  also  his  sober  gray  suit 
with  the  very  white  linen  and  black  tie,  which  he 

57 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

wore  like  a  man  who  cares  more  for  the  cleanliness 
and  propriety  of  his  person  than  for  fashion.  All 
this  and  the  modulated  tones  of  his  cultivated  voice 
had  made  a  lively  impression  upon  the  dumb  little 
girl.  She  would  have  done  anything  in  the  world  to 
please  the  judge,  even  defying  her  aunt  if  that  had 
been  necessary.  And  she  had  always  stood  in  a 
healthy  awe  of  her  vigorous,  outspoken  aunt. 

The  first  occasion  when  Adelle  had  an  opinion  all 
her  own  and  announced  it  publicly  and  unasked  was 
due  to  the  judge.  Of  course  the  question  of  guard 
ianship  was  much  discussed  in  their  very  limited 
circle.  Joseph  Lovejoy,  the  manager  of  Pike's  Liv 
ery  at  the  corner  of  Church  Street,  —  the  Pike 
whose  son  Addie  Clark  had  disdained,  —  was  the 
oldest  and  most  important  of  the  " roomers."  Mr. 
Lovejoy  was  of  the  opinion  that  trust  companies 
were  risky  inventions  that  might  some  day  disap 
pear  in  smoke.  He  advised  the  perplexed  widow  to 
"  hire  a  smart  lawyer"  to  look  out  for  her  business 
interests.  What  did  an  old  probate  judge  know 
about  real  estate?  This  was  the  occasion  on  which 
Adelle  made  her  one  contribution:  she  thought  that 
11  Judge  Orcutt  must  be  wiser  than  any  lawyer  be 
cause  he  was  a  judge."  A  silly  answer  as  the  livery 
man  said,  yet  surprising  to  her  aunt.  And  she 
added  —  "He's  a  gentleman,  too,"  though  how  the 
little  girl  discovered  it  is  inexplicable. 

The  news  of  the  prospective  importance  of  Clark's 
Field  had  quickly  spread  through  Church  Street  and 

58 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  Square,  where  the  widow's  credit  much  im 
proved.  Something  really  seemed  about  to  happen 
of  consequence  to  the  old  Field  and  the  modest  rem 
nants  of  the  Clark  family.  Emissaries  from  the 
routed  speculators  came  to  see  the  widow.  It  drib 
bled  down  from  the  magnates  of  the  local  bank,  the 
River  National,  by  way  of  the  cashier  to  the  chief 
clerk,  that  the  widow  Clark  might  easily  get  herself 
into  trouble  and  lose  her  property  if  she  took  every 
body's  advice.  It  should  be  said  that  the  River  Na 
tional  Bank  disliked  these  rich  upstart  trust  com 
panies  ;  also  that  the  capitalists  who  had  laid  envious 
eyes  on  the  Field  were  associated  with  the  local 
bank,  which  expected  to  derive  profit  from  this  deal, 
—  the  largest  that  Alton  had  ever  known  even  dur 
ing  the  boom  years  at  the  turn  of  the  century. 

What  wonder,  then,  that  the  widow  Clark,  who 
was  a  sensible  enough  woman  in  the  matter  of  room 
ers  and  household  management  and  knew  a  bum 
from  a  modest  paying  laboring  man  as  well  as  any 
one  in  the  profession,  was  perplexed  in  the  present 
situation  as  to  the  course  of  true  wisdom?  Incredi 
ble  as  it  may  seem,  it  was  Adelle  who  during  this 
time  of  doubt  gave  her  aunt  strength  to  resist  much 
bad  advice.  Her  influence  was,  as  might  be  ex 
pected,  merely  negative.  For  after  that  single  de 
liverance  of  opinion  she  made  no  comment  on  all  the 
discussion  and  advice.  She  seemed  to  consider  the 
question  settled  already :  it  was  this  tacit  method  of 
treating  the  guardianship  as  an  accomplished  fact 

59 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

that  really  influenced  her  troubled  aunt.  When  a 
certain  point  of  household  routine  came  up  between 
them,  Adelle  observed  that,  as  they  should  not  be  at 
home  on  Thursday  morning,  the  thing  would  have 
to  go  over  till  the  following  day.  Thursday  was  the 
day  of  their  appointment  with  the  probate  judge. 
Mrs.  Clark,  of  course,  had  not  forgotten  this  impor 
tant  fact,  but  not  having  yet  made  up  her  distracted 
mind  she  had  purposely  ignored  the  appointment  to 
see  what  her  niece  would  say.  Thus  Adelle  quietly 
settled  the  point:  they  were  to  keep  the  appointment 
with  the  judge.  Another  faint  occasion  of  display 
ing  will  came  to  her,  so  faint  that  it  would  seem 
hardly  worth  mentioning  except  that  a  faithful  his 
torian  must  present  every  possible  manifestation  of 
character  on  the  part  of  this  colorless  heroine. 

It  occurred  when  they  saw  the  judge  on  Thurs 
day.  The  probate  judge,  who  was  busy  with  an 
other  case  on  their  arrival,  did  not  invite  them  into 
his  private  room  as  on  former  occasions,  but  merely 
shoved  across  his  bench  a  card  on  which  he  had 
written  a  name  and  an  address. 

"  It's  all  arranged,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Clark.  "Just 
go  over  to  the  Washington  Trust  Company  and  ask 
for  Mr.  Gardiner.  He  will  take  care  of  you,"  and  he 
smiled  pleasantly  in  dismissal. 

The  widow  was  much  put  out  by  this  summary 
way  of  dealing,  for  she  had  intended  to  pour  out  to 
the  judge  her  doubts,  though  she  probably  knew 
that  in  the  end  she  should  follow  his  advice.  She 

60 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

hesitated  in  the  corridor  of  the  court-house,  saying 
something  about  not  being  in  any  hurry  to  go  to  the 
Washington  Trust  Company.  She  had  not  fully 
made  up  her  mind,  etc.  But  Adelle,  as  if  she  had  not 
heard  her  aunt's  objections,  set  off  down  the  street 
in  the  direction  of  the  trust  company's  handsome 
building.  Her  aunt  followed  her.  The  matter  was 
thus  settled. 

Adelle  had  also  felt  disappointed  at  their  brief  in 
terview  ;  not  bitterly  disappointed  because  she  never 
felt  bitterly  about  anything,  but  consciously  sorry  to 
have  missed  the  expected  conference  in  the  judge's 
private  chamber.  She  might  never  see  him  again! 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  although  the  probate  court  neces 
sarily  had  much  to  do  with  her  fate  in  the  settlement 
of  the  involved  estate,  it  was  not  for  seven  years  that 
she  had  another  chance  of  seeing  the  judge  in  cham 
bers,  and  that,  as  we  shall  discover,  was  on  a  very 
different  occasion.  Whether  during  all  these  years 
Adelle  ever  thought  much  about  the  judge,  nobody 
knows,  but  Judge  Orcutt  often  had  occasion  to  recol 
lect  the  pale,  badly  dressed  little  girl  who  had  no 
manners,  when  he  signed  orders  and  approved  papers 
in  re  Adelle  Clark,  minor. 


VII 


THE  Washington  Trust  Company  had  grown  in 
power  to  the  envy  of  its  conservative  rivals  ever 
since  its  organization,  and  was  now  one  of  the  richest 
reservoirs  of  capital  in  the  city.  Recently  it  had 
moved  into  its  new  home  in  the  banking  quarter  of 
the  city,  —  the  most  expensive,  commodious,  and 

richly  ornamented  bank  premises  in  B .    The 

Washington  Trust  Company  was  managed  by  "the 
younger  crowd,"  and  one  way  in  which  the  new  blood 
manifested  itself  was  by  the  erection  of  this  hand 
some  granite  building  with  its  ornate  bronze  and 
marble  appointments.  The  officers  felt  that  theirs 
was  a  new  kind  of  business,  largely  involving  women, 
invalids,  and  dependents  of  rich  habits,  and  for  these 
a  display  of  magnificence  was  "good  business." 

When  Adelle  and  her  aunt  paused  inside  the  mas 
sive  bronze  doors  of  the  Trust  Building  and  looked 
about  them  in  bewilderment  across  the  immense  sur 
face  of  polished  marble  floor,  it  probably  did  not  occur 
to  either  of  them  that  a  new  page  in  the  book  of  des 
tiny  had  been  turned  for  them.  Yet  even  in  Adelle's 
small,  silent  brain  there  must  have  penetrated  a  con 
sciousness  of  the  place,  —  the  home  as  it  were  of  her 
new  guardian,  —  and  such  a  magnificent  home  that 
it  inspired  at  once  both  timidity  and  pride.  The  two 

62 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

women  wandered  about  the  banking  floor  for  some 
minutes,  peering  through  the  various  grilles  at  the 
busy  clerks,  observing  the  careless  profusion  of  notes, 
gold,  and  documents  of  value  that  seemed  piled  on 
every  desk,  as  if  to  indicate  ostentatiously  the  im 
mensity  of  the  property  interests  confided  to  the  com 
pany's  care.  At  last,  after  they  had  been  rebuffed  by 
several  busy  clerks,  a  uniformed  attendant  found 
them  and  inquired  their  business.  The  widow 
handed  to  him  the  card  she  had  received  from  the 
probate  judge,  and  the  usher  at  once  led  them  to  an 
elegant  little  private  elevator  that  shot  them  up 
wards  through  the  floors  of  the  bank  to  the  upper 
story.  Here,  in  a  small,  heavily  rugged  room  behind 
a  broad  mahogany  table,  they  met  Mr.  John  Gardi 
ner,  then  the  ' 'trust  officer  "  of  the  Washington 
Trust  Company.  He  was  a  heavy,  serious-minded, 
bald  man  of  middle  age,  and  Adelle  at  once  made 
up  her  mind  that  she  liked  him  far  less  than  the 
judge.  The  trust  officer  did  not  rise  on  their  en 
trance  as  the  judge  always  had  risen ;  merely  nodded 
to  them,  motioned  to  some  chairs  against  the  wall, 
and  continued  writing  on  a  memorandum  pad.  Both 
the  widow  and  Adelle  felt  that  they  were  not  of  much 
importance  to  the  Washington  Trust  Company, 
which  was  precisely  what  the  trust  company  liked  to 
have  its  clients  feel. 

"Well,"  Mr.  Gardiner  said  at  last,  clearing  his 
voice,  "so  you  are  Mrs.  John  Clark  and  Miss  Adelle 
Clark?" 

63 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Of  course  he  knew  the  fact,  but  some  sort  of  intro 
duction  must  be  made.  Mrs.  Clark,  who  was  sitting 
hostilely  on  the  edge  of  her  chair,  hugging  to  herself 
a  little  black  bag,  nodded  her  head  guardedly  in 
response. 

"I  presume  you  have  come  to  see  me  about  the 
guardianship  matter,"  the  trust  officer  continued. 
Then  he  fussed  for  some  moments  among  the  papers 
on  his  desk  as  if  he  were  hunting  for  something,which 
he  at  last  found.  He  seized  the  paper  with  relief,  and 
took  another  furtive  look  at  his  visitors  from  under 
his  gold  glasses  as  if  to  make  sure  that  no  mistake 
had  been  made  and  began  again :  - 

"At  the  request  of  Judge  Orcutt,"  -he  pro 
nounced  the  probate  judge's  name  with  unction  and 
emphasis,  —  "we  have  looked  into  the  matter  of  the 
Clark  estate,  and  we  have  found,  what  I  suppose  you 
are  already  aware  of,  that  your  husband's  estate  is 
extremely  involved  and  with  it  this  little  girl's  inter 
est  in  the  property."  For  the  first  time  he  turned  his 
big  bald  head  in  Adelle's  direction,  and  finding  there 
apparently  nothing  to  hold  his  attention,  ignored 
her  completely  thereafter,  and  confined  himself  ex 
clusively  to  the  widow. 

He  paused  and  cleared  his  throat  as  if  he  expected 
some  defense  of  the  Clark  estate  from  the  widow. 
But  she  said  nothing.  To  tell  the  truth,  she  did  n't 
like  the  trust  officer's  manner.  As  she  said  afterwards 
to  Mr.  Lovejoy,  he  seemed  to  be  "throwing  it  into 
her,"  trying  to  impress  her  with  her  own  unimpor- 

64 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

tance  and  the  goodness  of  the  Washington  Trust 
Company  in  concerning  itself  with  her  soiled  linen. 
"  As  if  he  were  doing  me  a  big  favor,"  she  grumbled. 
That  was  in  fact  exactly  the  idea  that  Mr.  Gardiner 
had  of  the  whole  affair.  If  it  had  been  left  to  him,  as 
he  had  told  the  president  of  the  trust  company,  he 
would  not  have  the  Washington  Trust  Company  mix 
itself  up  in  such  a  dubious  '  'proposition"  as  the  Clark 
estate  was  likely  to  prove.  He  was  of  the ' '  old  school ' ' 
of  banking,  —  a  relic  of  earlier  days,  —  and  did  not 
approve  of  the  company's  accepting  any  but  the 
most  solid  trusts  that  involved  merely  the  trouble  of 
cutting  four  per  cent  coupons  in  their  management. 
But  his  superior  officers  had  listened  favorably  to  the 
request  of  the  probate  judge,  wishing  always  to 
"keep  in  close  touch"  with  the  judge  of  the  court 
where  they  had  so  much  business,  and  also  having 
a  somewhat  farther  vision  than  the  trust  officer,  as 
will  be  seen.  A  recommendation  by  the  probate 
judge  was  to  the  Washington  Trust  Company  in  the 
nature  of  a  royal  invitation,  not  to  be  considered 
on  purely  selfish  grounds ;  and  besides,  they  already 
scented  rich  pickings  in  the  litigious  situation  of 
Clark's  Fields.  They  would  be  stupid  if  they  had  to 
content  themselves  with  their  usual  one  per  cent 
commission  on  income.  The  assistant  to  the  presi 
dent  of  the  trust  company,  a  lively  young  banker  of 
the  "new  school,"  Mr.  Ashly  Crane,  who  had  been 
asked  to  examine  into  the  situation  of  the  Clark  es 
tate,  had  recognized  its  manifold  possibilities  and 

65 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

had  recommended  favorable  action.  In  the  event 
it  proved  that  the  "new  school"  was  right:  the 
Washington  Trust  Company  lost  nothing  by  its 
disinterested  act.  (It  never  did  lose  anything  by  its 
acts  of  charity,  and  that  is  why  it  has  prospered  so 
abundantly.) 

"I  do  not  know  what  the  trust  company  will  be 
able  to  do  with  the  property,"  the  cautious  Mr. 
Gardiner  continued.  "We  have  not  yet  completed 
our  examination:  our  attorneys  are  at  present  con 
sidering  certain  legal  points.  But  one  thing  is  pretty 
certain,"  he  hastened  to  add  with  emphasis.  "You 
must  look  for  no  income  from  the  estate  for  the 
present,  —  probably  not  for  a  term  of  years." 

This  made  little  impression  upon  the  women.  It 
meant  nothing  at  all  to  Adelle,  and  the  widow  had 
become  so  accustomed  to  disappointments  about 
the  Clark  property  that  she  did  not  move  a  muscle 
at  the  announcement,  though  she  inwardly  might 
regret  the  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  which  had 
been  promised  her  husband  by  the  other  crowd.  That 
would  mean  a  good  deal  more  to  her  business  than 
two  or  three  times  the  amount  after  a  "term  of 
years."  She  was  getting  on,  and  the  rooming  busi 
ness  needed  capital  badly.  However,  she  had  deter 
mined  to  do  nothing  detrimental  to  the  interests  of 
her  husband's  niece,  as  the  probate  judge  had  told 
her  she  might  if  she  listened  to  the  seduction  of  im 
mediate  cash.  And  fortunately  the  bank  officer  did 
not  ask  for  money  to  pay  taxes  and  interest  on  the 

66 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

mortgages,  which  had  been  the  bugbear  of  her  mar 
ried  life.  This  was  the  next  point  touched  upon  by 
the  trust  officer. 

"  I  presume  that  you  are  not  in  a  financial  position 
to  advance  anything  towards  the  expenses  of  the 
estate,  which  for  the  present  may  be  heavy?"  He 
gave  the  widow  another  furtive  look  under  his  glasses, 
as  if  to  detect  what  money  she  had  on  her  person. 

Mrs.  Clark  shook  her  head  vigorously:  that  she 
would  not  do  —  go  on  pouring  money  into  the  bot 
tomless  pit  of  Clark's  Field!  Of  course  the  trust 
company  had  considered  this  point  and  made  up  its 
mind  already  to  advance  the  estate  the  necessary 
funds  up  to  a  safe  amount,  which  would  become  an 
other  lien  on  the  little  girl's  income  from  her  mother's 
inheritance,  should  there  be  any. 

This  matter  disposed  of,  the  trust  officer  asked 
searching  questions  about  the  Clark  genealogy, 
which  the  widow  answered  quite  fully,  for  it  was  a 
subject  on  which  her  sister-in-law  Addie  had  edu 
cated  her  so  completely  that  she  knew  everything 
there  was  to  know  except  the  exact  whereabouts  of 
Edward  S.  or  his  heirs.  Mr.  Gardiner  was  specially 
interested  in  Edward  S.,  who  had  disappeared  fifty 
years  ago,  and  asked  Mrs.  Clark  to  send  him  imme 
diately  all  family  letters  bearing  on  Edward.  It  was 
apparent  that  the  trust  company  meant  to  go  after 
Edward  and  his  heirs  and  either  discover  them  if  it 
were  humanly  possible  or  establish  the  fact  that  they 
could  safely  be  ignored.  And  they  were  in  a  much 

67 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

better  position,  with  their  numerous  connections 
and  correspondents,  to  prosecute  such  a  search  suc 
cessfully  than  any  one  else  who  had  tried  it.  Mr. 
Gardiner,  however,  expressed  himself  doubtfully  of 
their  success. 

' '  We  shall  do  our  best, ' '  he  said , ' '  and  let  you  know 
from  time  to  time  of  the  progress  we  are  making." 

And  after  exacting  a  few  more  signatures  from  the 
widow,  who  by  this  time  had  become  adept  in  sign 
ing  "Ellen  Trigg  Clark,"  the  trust  officer  nodded  to 
his  visitors  in  dismissal. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  what  Adelle  was  think 
ing  about  during  this  interview.  She  sat  perfectly 
still  as  she  always  did:  one  of  her  minor  virtues 
as  a  child  was  that  she  could  sit  for  hours  without 
wriggling  or  saying  a  word.  She  did  not  even  stare 
about  her  at  the  lofty  room  with  its  colored  glass 
windows  and  shiny  mahogany  furniture  as  any  other 
young  person  might.  She  gazed  just  above  the  bald 
crown  of  the  trust  officer's  head  and  seemed  more 
nearly  absorbed  in  Nirvana  than  a  young  American 
ever  becomes.  But  there  is  little  doubt  that  the  long 
interview  in  the  still,  high  room  of  the  bank  building 
did  make  an  impression  upon  the  trust  company's 
ward. 

She  trailed  after  her  aunt  down  the  marble  stairs, 
for  the  trust  officer  did  not  trouble  himself  about 
their  exit  from  his  office  as  he  did  with  solid  clients 
who  had  going  estates,  and  the  widow  was  too 
timid  to  summon  the  bronze  car  from  its  hole 

68 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

in  the  wall.  They  passed  through  the  great  banking 
room  on  the  main  floor,  where,  because  of  the  large 
ness  and  the  decorum  of  this  sanctuary  of  property, 
a  crowd  of  patrons  seemed  to  make  no  disturbance. 
Adelle  sat  in  reverie  all  the  way  out  to  Alton  in  the 
street-car  and  did  not  wake  up  until  they  turned  from 
the  Square  into  the  dingy  side  street.  Then  she  said, 
apropos  of  nothing,  — 

"It's  a  pretty  place." 

"What  place?"  snapped  the  widow,  who  realized 
that  a  whole  working  day  had  been  lost ' '  for  nothing, ' ' 
and  the  roomers'  beds  were  still  to  make. 

"That  trust  place,"  Adelle  explained. 

"Urn,"  her  aunt  responded  enigmatically,  as  one 
who  would  say  that  "pretty  is  as  pretty  does." 

It  had  not  appeared  to  her  as  a  place  of  beauty. 
But  to  Adelle,  who  had  seen  nothing  more  ornate 
than  the  Everitt  Grade  School  of  Alton,  the  Second 
Congregational  Church,  and  the  new  City  Hall,  the 
interior  of  the  Washington  Trust  Company,  with  its 
bronze  and  marble  and  windows  that  shed  soft  violet 
lights  on  the  white  floors,  awakened  an  unknown 
appetite  for  richness  and  splendor,  color  and  size. 
That  was  what  she  had  been  thinking  about  without 
realizing  it  while  the  trust  officer  talked  to  her  aunt. 
She  called  this  barbaric  profusion  of  rich  materials 
"pretty,"  and  felt,  very  faintly,  a  personal  happiness 
in  being  connected  with  it  in  some  slight  manner. 


VIII 

IF  the  excursions  to  the  probate  court  and  the  trust 
company  had  roused  expectations  of  change  in  their 
condition,  they  were  to  be  disappointed.  From  that 
afternoon  when  they  turned  into  Church  Street  on 
their  return  from  the  Washington  Trust  Company, 
the  monotony  and  drudgery  of  their  former  life 
settled  down  on  them  with  an  even  greater  insistence. 
The  dusty  ROOMS  FOR  RENT  sign  was  tucked  into 
the  front  window  with  its  usual  regularity,  for  do 
what  she  could,  Mrs.  Clark  could  not  attain  that 
pinnacle  of  the  landlady's  aspirations,  a  houseful  of 
permanent  roomers.  The  young  men  were  incon 
stant,  the  middle-aged  liable  to  matrimony,  the  old 
to  death,  and  all  to  penury  or  change  of  occupation 
and  residence.  So  the  old  fight  went  on  as  before 
during  all  the  twenty-three  years  of  the  widow 
Clark's  married  life,  —  a  fight  to  exist  in  a  dusty, 
worn,  and  shabby  fashion,  with  a  file  of  roomers 
tramping  out  the  stair  carpet,  spotting  the  furniture, 
and  using  up  the  linen.  To  be  sure,  two  great  drains 
upon  income  no  longer  troubled  her,  —  Clark's 
Field  and  the  Veteran.  With  these  encumbrances 
removed  she  could  make  ends  meet. 

After  a  few  weeks  she  forgot  her  doubts  about  the 
wisdom  of   following  Judge  Orcutt's  advice   and 

70 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

placing  her  interest  in  the  estate  together  with  her 
niece's  in  care  of  the  trust  company.  The  manager 
of  the  livery-stable,  who  was  the  nearest  thing  to 
permanency  the  house  knew,  shook  his  head  over  her 
folly  in  trusting  a  trust  company,  but  the  specula 
tors  and  their  lawyers  let  her  severely  alone,  knowing 
that  they  had  been  outwitted  and  flitting  to  other 
schemes.  The  Square  seemed  to  accept  the  fresh 
eclipse  of  the  Clark  estate  after  its  false  appearance 
of  coming  to  a  crisis.  And  the  character  of  the  Square 
was  fast  changing  with  all  else  these  busy  years.  It 
was  no  longer  a  neighborhood  center  of  gossip.  There 
were  new  faces  —  and  many  foreign  ones  —  in  the 
rows  of  shops.  The  neighborhood  was  deteriorating, 
or  evolving,  as  you  happened  to  look  at  it. 

The  Washington  Trust  Company  seemed  to  have 
quite  forgotten  the  existence  of  the  Clark  women  ex 
cept  for  the  occasional  appearance  in  the  mail  of  an 
oblong  letter  addressed  in  type  to  Mrs.  Ellen  Trigg 
Clark,  which  bore  in  its  upper  left-hand  corner  a 
neat  vignette  of  the  trust  building.  Adelle  studied 
these  envelopes  carefully,  not  to  say  tenderly,  with 
something  of  the  emotion  that  the  trust  company's 
home  had  roused  in  her  the  only  time  she  had  been 
within  its  doors.  The  vignette,  which  represented  a 
considerable  Grecian  temple,  she  thought  " pretty," 
and  the  neat,  substantial-looking  envelope  suggested 
a  rich  importance  to  the  communication  within  that 
also  pleased  the  girl.  She  knew  that  it  had  to  do  with 
her  remotely.  Yet  there  was  never  anything  thrill- 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

ing  in  these  communications  from  the  trust  company. 
They  were  signed  by  Mr.  Gardiner  and  curtly  in 
formed  Mrs.  Clark  of  certain  meaningless  facts  or 
more  often  curtly  inquired  for  information,  — 
"Awaiting  your  kind  reply,"  etc.,  or  merely  re 
quested  politely  another  example  of  the  widow's 
signature.  They  were  models  of  brief,  impersonal, 
business  communications.  If  Adelle  had  ever  had 
any  experience  of  personal  relationship  she  might  have 
resented  these  perfunctory  epistles  from  her  legal 
guardian,  but  for  all  she  knew  that  was  the  way  all 
people  treated  one  another.  Evidently  her  legal 
guardian  had  no  desire  for  any  closer  personal  con 
tact  with  its  ward,  and  she  waited,  not  so  much  pa 
tiently  as  pensively,  for  it  to  demonstrate  a  more 
lively  interest  in  her  existence.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  there  was  debate  in  the  Church  Street 
house  about  a  matter  that  more  closely  touched  the 
young  girl.  She  had  graduated  from  the  Everitt 
School  the  preceding  June  and  would  naturally  be 
going  on  now  into  the  high  school  with  her  better 
conditioned  schoolmates.  But  she  herself,  though 
not  averse  to  school,  had  suggested  that  she  should 
stay  at  home  and  help  her  aunt  in  the  house  or  find 
a  place  in  one  of  the  shops  in  the  Square  where  she 
might  earn  a  little  money.  Mrs.  Clark,  who  has  been 
described  as  a  realist,  might  have  favored  this  prac 
tical  plan,  had  it  not  been  that  Adelle  was  a  Clark  — 
all  that  was  left  of  them,  in  fact.  The  widow  had 
lived  so  long  under  the  shadow  of  the  Clark  expec- 

72 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

tations  that  she  could  not  easily  escape  from  their 
control  now  that  she  was  alone.  A  Trigg,  of  course, 
under  similar  circumstances  would  have  gone  into 
a  shop  at  once,  but  a  Clark  ought  to  have  a  better 
education  in  deference  to  her  expectations.  The  heir 
ess  of  Clark's  Field  must  never  conclude  her  educa 
tion  with  the  grades.  ...  So  finally  it  was  decided 
that  Adelle  should  enter  the  high  school  for  a  year, 
at  any  rate,  and  to  that  end  a  new  school  dress  of 
sober  blue  serge  was  provided,  made  by  Adelle  with 
her  aunt's  assistance. 

These  days  Adelle  rose  at  an  early  hour  to  do  the 
chamber  work  while  her  aunt  got  breakfast,  then 
changed  her  dress,  looked  hurriedly  over  her  lessons, 
gobbled  her  breakfast,  and  with  her  books  and  a  tin 
lunch-box  strapped  together  set  forth  to  walk  the 
mile  and  a  half  to  the  high  school  in  order  to  save 
car-fare.  There  she  performed  her  daily  tasks  in  a 
perfunctory,  dead  manner,  not  uncommon.  Once 
an  exasperated  teacher  had  demanded  testily,  — 

"Miss  Clark,  don't  you  ever  think?" 

The  timid  child  had  answered  seriously,  — 

"Yes,  sometimes  I  think." 

Whereat  the  class  tittered  and  Adelle  had  a  mild 
sensation  of  dislike  for  the  irascible  teacher,  who  re 
ported  in  "teachers'  meeting  "  that  Adelle  Clark  was 
as  nearly  defective  as  a  child  of  her  years  could  be 
and  be  "  all  right,"  and  that  the  grades  ought  not  to 
permit  such  pupils  to  graduate  into  the  high  school. 
Indeed,  algebra,  Caesar,  and  Greek  history  were  as 

73 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

nearly  senseless  to  Adelle  Clark  as  they  could  be. 
They  were  entirely  remote  from  her  life,  and  nothing 
of  imagination  rose  from  within  to  give  them  mean 
ing.  She  learned  by  rote,  and  she  had  a  poor  mem 
ory.  It  was  much  the  same,  however,  with  English 
literature  or  social  science  or  French,  subjects  that 
might  be  expected  to  awaken  some  response  in  the 
mind  of  a  girl.  The  only  subject  that  she  really  liked 
was  dancing,  which  the  gymnasium  instructor  taught. 
Adelle  danced  very  well,  as  if  she  were  aware  of  being 
alive  when  she  danced.  But  even  the  athletic  young 
woman  who  had  the  gymnasium  classes  reported  that 
Adelle  Clark  was  too  dull,  too  lifeless,  to  succeed  as 
a  dancer  or  athletic  teacher.  These  public  guardians 
of  youth  may  or  may  not  have  been  right  in  their 
judgments,  but  certainly  as  yet  the  girl  had  not 
"waked  up."  .  .  . 

Adelle's  high-school  career  was  interrupted  in  Jan 
uary,  just  as  she  had  turned  fifteen,  by  her  aunt's 
sickness.  For  the  first  time  in  forty  years,  as  the 
widow  told  the  doctor,  she  had  taken  to  her  bed. 
"Time  to  make  up  for  all  the  good  loafing  you  have 
missed,"  the  young  doctor  joked  cheaply  in  reply, 
not  realizing  the  hardship  of  invalidism,  with  a 
houseful  of  roomers,  in  a  small  back  bedroom  near 
enough  to  the  center  of  activities  for  the  sick  woman 
to  know  all  that  happened  without  having  the 
strength  to  interfere.  It  was  only  the  grippe,  the 
doctor  said,  advising  rest,  care,  and  food.  It  would 
be  a  matter  of  a  week  or  two,  and  Adelle  was  doing 

74 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

her  best  to  take  her  aunt's  place  in  the  house  and 
also  nurse  her  aunt.  But  Mrs.  Clark  never  left  her 
bed  until  she  was  carried  to  the  cemetery  to  be  laid 
beside  the  Veteran  in  the  already  crowded  lot.  The 
grippe  proved  to  be  a  convenient  name  to  conceal  a 
general  breaking-up,  due  to  years  of  wearing,  cease 
less  woman's  toil  without  hope,  in  the  disintegrating 
Clark  atmosphere  that  ate  like  an  acid  into  the  con 
sciousness  even  of  plain  Ellen  Trigg,  with  her  hum 
ble  expectations  from  life. 

Adelle  was  much  moved  by  the  death  of  her  aunt, 
the  last  remaining  relative  that  she  knew  of,  though 
the  few  people  who  saw  her  at  this  time  thought  she 
"took  it  remarkably  well."  They  interpreted  her 
expressionless  passivity  to  a  lack  of  feeling.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  had  been  much  more  attached  to 
her  aunt  than  to  any  one  she  had  ever  known.  The 
plain  woman,  who  had  no  pretensions  and  did  her 
work  uncomplainingly  because  it  was  useless  to  com 
plain,  had  inspired  the  girl  with  respect  and  given 
her  what  little  character  she  had.  Ellen  Clark  was 
a  stoic,  unconsciously,  and  she  had  taught  Adelle  the 
wisdom  of  the  stoic's  creed.  The  girl  realized  fully 
now  that  she  was  alone  in  life,  alone  spiritually  as 
well  as  physically,  and  though  she  did  not  drop  tears 
as  she  came  back  to  the  empty  Church  Street  house 
from  the  cemetery,  —  for  that  was  not  the  thing  to 
do  now :  it  was  to  get  back  as  soon  as  possible  and  set 
the  house  to  rights  as  her  aunt  would  have  done  so 
that  the  roomers  should  not  be  put  out  any  further,— 

75 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

her  heart  was  heavy,  nevertheless,  and  she  may  even 
have  wondered  sadly  what  was  to  become  of  her. 

That  was  the  question  that  disturbed  the  few  per 
sons  who  had  any  interest  in  the  Clark  women,  — 
the  manager  of  the  livery-stable  among  them.  It 
was  plainly  not  the  "proper  thing"  for  the  girl  to 
continue  long  in  a  house  full  of  men,  and  irrespons 
ible  men  at  that.  Adelle  was  not  aware  what  was 
the  "proper  thing,"  but  she  felt  herself  inadequate 
to  keeping  up  the  establishment  unaided  by  her 
aunt,  although  that  is  what  she  would  have  liked  to  do, 
go  on  sweeping  and  making  beds  and  counting  out 
the  wash  and  making  up  the  bills,  with  or  without 
school.  But  the  liveryman  hinted  to  her  on  her  re 
turn  from  the  funeral  that  she  ought  to  go  immedi 
ately  to  some  friend's  house,  or  have  some  married 
woman  stay  with  her  until  her  future  had  been  de 
termined  upon.  Adelle  knew  of  no  house  where  she 
could  make  such  a  visit,  nor  of  any  one  whom  she 
could  invite  to  stay  with  her.  It  may  seem  incred 
ible,  as  it  did  to  Mr.  Lovejoy,  that  "folks  could  live 
all  their  lives  in  Alton  like  the  Clarks"  and  have  no 
relatives  or  friends  to  lean  upon  in  an  emergency. 
But  the  truth  is  that  when  a  family  begins  to  go 
down  in  this  world,  after  having  some  pretensions,  it 
is  likely  to  shed  social  relations  very  fast  instead  of 
acquiring  new  ones.  A  family  in  a  settled  social 
equilibrium  (rarely  the  case  in  America),  or  one 
that  is  going  up  in  the  human  scale,  is  apt  to  acquire 
connections,  quite  apart  from  the  accidents  of  birth 

76 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  social  gifts,  because  the  mental  attitude  is  an 
open  and  optimistic  one,  attracting  to  itself  humanity 
instead  of  timidly  withdrawing  into  itself.  Strength 
attracts  and  weakness  repels  in  the  long  run  here  as 
elsewhere.  The  Clarks,  who  had  never  been  consider 
able  or  numerous,  had  in  the  course  of  three  genera 
tions  gradually  lost  their  hold  upon  the  complex 
threads  of  life,  shiftlessly  shedding  relationships  as 
the  Veteran  had  done,  or  proudly  refusing  inferior 
connections  as  Addie  had,  until  the  family  was  left 
solitary  in  the  person  of  this  one  fifteen-year-old 
girl,  in  whom  the  social  habit  seemed  utterly  atro 
phied.  Of  course,  Adelle  could  have  appealed  to  her 
aunt's  pastor,  but  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  do  that 
or  to  make  use  of  any  other  social  machinery.  She 
went  back  to  the  Church  Street  house,  occupied  her 
old  room,  and  for  the  next  few  days  continued  the 
catlike  routine  of  her  life  as  nearly  as  she  could  un 
der  the  changed  conditions. 

Mr.  Love  joy,  who  continued  to  be  the  one  most 
concerned  in  her  welfare,  induced  her  to  write  a 
crude  little  note  to  the  "Washington  Trust  Com 
pany,  Dear  Sirs,"  notifying  them  of  the  demise  of 
her  aunt.  The  livery-stable  man,  who  was  a  wid 
ower  and  not  beyond  middle  age,  which  does  not 
necessarily  mean  in  his  class  that  the  wife  is  dead 
and  buried,  but  merely  permanently  absent  for  one 
reason  or  another,  might  have  thrown  sentimental 
eyes  upon  the  girl  if  she  had  been  different,  more  of 
a  woman. 

77 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"She'll  likely  enough  be  an  heiress  some  of  these 
days,"  he  said  to  his  employer,  old  John  Pike. 

Pike  was  an  old  resident  of  Alton  and  had  known 
all  the  Clarks.  He  grunted  as  if  he  had  heard  that 
song  before.  "That's  what  they  used  to  say  of  her 
mother,  Addie  Clark,"  he  remarked,  remembering 
Addie's  superior  air  towards  his  son. 

"Well,"  his  manager  continued,  "I  see  that  trust 
company's  got  its  signs  up  all  over  the  Field." 

1  'T  ain't  the  first  time  there's  been  signs  there," 
Pike  retorted,  eyeing  a  succulent  cigar  he  had  suc 
ceeded  in  extracting  from  an  inner  pocket,  "nor  the 
last  either,  I  expect!" 

"It  looks  as  if  they  meant  business  this  time." 

"They  can't  get  no  title,"  Pike  averred,  for  he 
banked  with  the  River  National,  which  was  now 
quite  bearish  on  Clark's  Field.  After  a  pause  the  old 
liveryman  asked  with  a  broad  smile,  —  "Why  don't 
you  go  in  for  the  heiress,  Jim?" 

(Mr.  Lovejoy  was  accounted  "gay,"  a  man  to 
please  the  ladies.) 

"Me!  I  never  thought  of  it  —  she's  nothing  but  a 
girl.  The  old  one  pleased  me  better  —  she  was  a 
smart  woman!" 

"The  girl's  got  all  the  property,  ain't  she?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Well,  then,  you  get  two  bites  from  the  same 
cherry." 

The  manager  made  no  advances  to  the  girl,  how 
ever,  and  for  that  we  must  consider  Adelle  herself  as 

78 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

chiefly  responsible.  For,  as  a  woman,  or  rather  the 
hope  of  a  woman,  she  was  uninteresting, — still  a  pale, 
passive,  commonplace  girl.  What  womanhood  she 
might  expect  was  slow  in  coming  to  her.  Even  with 
the  halo  of  the  Clark  inheritance  she  could  arouse 
slight  amorous  interest  in  any  man.  And  thus 
Adelle's  insignificance  again  saved  her  —  shall  we 
say? —  from  the  mean  fate  of  becoming  the  prey  of 
this  "roomer." 

"  No  man  will  ever  take  the  trouble  to  marry  that 
girl,"  Mr.  Love  joy  remarked  to  his  employer,  "  un 
less  she  gets  her  fortune  in  hard  cash."  In  which 
prophecy  the  widower  was  wrong. 


IX 


IN  a  few  days  Mr.  Gardiner  called  at  the  Church 
Street  house  on  behalf  of  the  trust  company,  to  ex 
press  to  its  ward  its  sympathy  with  her  in  her  be 
reavement  and  to  find  out  what  her  situation  was, 
and  her  needs  for  the  future.  Adelle,  sitting  opposite 
the  portly,  bald-headed  bank  officer  in  the  little 
front  room,  did  not  feel  especially  excited.  She 
could  not  imagine  what  this  visit  might  mean  to  her. 
She  answered  all  his  questions  in  a  low,  colorless 
voice,  promptly  enough  and  intelligently  enough. 
Yes,  her  aunt  was  her  only  relative  so  far  as  she 
knew.  No,  she  had  made  no  plans  —  she  would  like 
to  stay  where  she  was  if  she  could.  It  would  be 
pretty  hard  to  do  everything  alone,  etc.  As  the 
trust  officer,  puzzled  by  the  situation,  continued  to 
ply  her  with  questions  so  that  he  might  gain  a  clearer 
understanding  of  the  circumstances,  he  became  more 
and  more  perplexed.  This  was  something  quite  out 
of  his  experience  as  a  trust  officer.  He  had  supposed 
in  making  this  call  that  he  would  have  merely  a  per 
functory  duty  to  perform,  to  ratify  some  obviously 
"sensible"  plan  for  the  future  of  the  institution's 
ward.  As  he  happened  to  have  other  business  in 
Alton,  he  called  personally  instead  of  writing  a 
note. 

80 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

But  now  he  discovered  that  this  fifteen-year- 
old  girl  had  absolutely  no  relatives,  nor  "proper 
friends,"  nor  visible  means  of  support  except  the 
income  from  "a  third-class  boarding-house,"  as  he 
told  the  president  of  the  trust  company  the  next 
day.  Clearly  the  company  must  do  something  for 
its  ward,  whose  fortune  they  were  now  beginning  to 
discuss  in  seven  figures. 

"She  must  have  a  suitable  allowance." 

That  the  good  Mr.  Gardiner  saw  at  once.  For  to 
his  thrifty,  suburban  soul  the  situation  of  a  girl  of 
fifteen  with  large  prospects  in  a  third-class  rooming- 
house  was  truly  deplorable.  The  dignities  and  pro 
prieties  of  life  were  being  outraged :  it  might  affect 
the  character  of  the  trust  company  should  it  be 
come  known  .  .  . 

Rising  at  last  from  the  dusty  sofa  where  he  had 
placed  his  large  person  for  this  talk,  the  trust  officer 
said  kindly,  — 

"We  must  consider  what  is  best  to  be  done,  my 
girl.  Can  you  come  to  the  bank  to  see  me  next 
Monday?" 

Adelle  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  not  go  to  see 
him  Monday,  as  high  school  still  seemed  impossible 
with  the  house  on  her  hands. 

"Come  in,  then,  Monday  morning!"  And  the 
trust  officer  went  homewards  to  confide  his  perplex 
ity  to  his  wife  as  trust  officers  sometimes  do.  It  was 
a  queer  business,  his.  As  trust  officer  he  had  once 
gone  out  to  some  awful  place  in  Dakota  to  take 

81 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

charge  of  the  remains  of  a  client  who  had  got  him 
self  shot  in  a  brawl,  and  brought  the  body  back  and 
buried  it  decently  in  a  New  England  graveyard  with 
his  ancestors.  He  had  advised  young  widows  how  to 
conduct  themselves  so  that  they  should  not  be  ex 
posed  to  the  wiles  of  rapacious  men.  Once  even  he 
had  counseled  matrimony  to  a  client  who  was  diffi 
cult  to  control  and  had  approved,  unofficially,  of  her 
selection  of  a  mate.  A  good  many  of  the  social  bur 
dens  of  humanity  came  upon  his  desk  in  the  course 
of  the  day's  business,  and  he  was  no  more  inhuman 
than  the  next  man.  He  was  a  father  of  a  respectable 
family  in  the  neighboring  suburb  of  Chester.  His 
habit  was  naturally  to  hunt  for  the  proper  formula 
for  each  situation  as  it  arose  and  to  apply  this  for 
mula  conscientiously.  According  to  Mr.  Gardiner, 
the  duty  of  trust  companies  to  society  consisted  in 
applying  suitable  formulas  to  the  human  tangles  sub 
mitted  to  them  by  their  clients.  And  in  the  present 
case  Mrs.  Gardiner  suggested  the  necessary  formula. 

"Why  don't  you  send  the  girl  to  a  good  boarding- 
school?  You  say  she 's  fifteen  and  will  have  money." 

"Yes,  —  some  money,  perhaps  a  good  deal,"  her 
husband  replied.  Even  in  the  bosom  of  his  family, 
the  trust  officer  was  guarded  in  statement. 

"How  much?"  Mrs.  Gardiner  demanded. 

"What  difference  does  it  make  how  much,  so  long 
as  we  can  pay  her  school  bills?" 

"It  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world!"  the 
wife  replied,  with  the  superior  tone  of  wisdom.  "It 

82 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

makes  the  difference  whether  you  send  her  to  St. 
Catherine's  or  Herndon  Hall." 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  trust  officer's  wife  believed 
in  that  clause  of  the  catechism  that  recommends 
contentment  with  that  state  of  life  to  which  Provi 
dence  hath  called  one,  and  also  that  education  should 
fit  one  for  the  state  of  life  to  which  he  or  she  was  to 
be  called  by  Providence.  St.  Catherine's,  as  the 
trust  officer  very  well  knew,  was  a  modest  institu 
tion  for  girls  under  the  direction  of  the  Episcopal 
Church,  for  which  he  served  as  trustee,  where  needy 
girls  were  cheaply  provided  with  a  " sensible"  edu 
cation,  and  "the  household  arts"  were  not  neg 
lected.  In  other  words,  the  girls  swept  their  rooms, 
made  their  own  beds,  and  washed  the  dishes  after 
the  austere  repasts,  and  the  fee  was  correspondingly 
small.  Whereas  Herndon  Hall  —  well,  every  one 
who  has  young  daughters  to  launch  upon  the  trou 
bled  sea  of  social  life,  and  the  ambition  to  give  them 
the  most  exclusive  companionship  and  no  very  high 
regard  for  learning,  —  at  least  for  women,  —  knows 
all  about  Herndon  Hall,  by  that  name  or  some 
other  equally  euphonious.  The  fees  at  Herndon 
Hall  were  fabulous,  and  it  was  supposed  to  be  so 
"careful"  in  its  scrutiny  of  applicants  that  only 
those  parents  with  the  best  introductions  could  pos 
sibly  secure  admission  for  their  daughters.  There 
were,  of  course,  no  examinations  or  mental  tests  of 
any  kind. 

Mrs.  Gardiner,  who  had  the  ambition  to  send  her 

83 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Alicia  to  Herndon  Hall  in  due  course,  if  the  trust 
officer  felt  that  he  could  afford  the  expense,  opened 
her  eyes  when  her  husband  replied  to  her  question 
promptly,  — 

"  I  guess  we'll  figure  on  Herndon  Hall." 

Mrs.  Gardiner  inferred  that  the  prospects  of  the 
trust  company's  ward  must  be  quite  brilliant,  and 
she  was  prepared  to  do  her  part. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  the  girl  out  here  over  Sun 
day?"  she  suggested. 

"Oh,  she's  a  queer  little  piece,"  the  trust  officer 
replied  evasively.  "I  don't  believe  you  would  find 
her  interesting  —  it  is  n't  necessary." 


X 


ON  her  next  visit  to  the  splendid  home  of  her  guar 
dian,  Adelle  was  received  by  no  less  a  person  than 
the  president  of  the  trust  company  himself.  In  con 
ference  between  the  officers  of  the  trust  company  it 
had  been  decided  that  the  president,  his  assistant, 
and  the  trust  officer  should  meet  the  girl,  explain  to 
her  cautiously  the  nature  of  her  prospects,  and  an 
nounce  to  her  the  arrangement  for  her  education 
that  they  had  made.  But  before  recording  this  in 
terview  a  word  should  be  said  about  the  present 
situation  of  Clark's  Field. 

The  search  that  the  bank  had  started  for  trace  of 
the  missing  Edward  S.  and  his  heirs  had  resulted  as 
futilely  as  the  more  feeble  measures  taken  earlier  by 
Samuel  Clark.  It  is  astonishing  how  completely 
people  can  obliterate  themselves,  give  them  a  few 
years !  There  was  absolutely  no  clue  in  all  the  United 
States  for  discovering  this  lost  branch  of  the  Alton 
Clarks,  nor  any  reason  to  believe  in  their  existence 
except  the  established  fact  that  in  1848  Edward  S., 
with  a  wife  and  at  least  three  babies,  had  left  Chicago 
for  St.  Louis.  Although  the  Alton  branch  of  the 
Clarks  had  shown  no  powers  of  multiplying,  —  their 
sole  representative  now  being  one  little  girl,  —  never 
theless  there  might  be  a  whole  colony  of  Clarks 

85 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

somewhere  interested  in  one  half  of  the  valuable 
Field.  But  more  than  fifty  years  had  now  passed 
since  the  final  disappearance  of  Edward  S.  Clark,  and 
the  law  was  willing  to  consider  means  of  ignoring  all 
claims  derived  from  him.  It  was  the  young  assistant 
to  the  president,  Mr.  Ashly  Crane,  who  worked  out 
the  details  of  the  plan  by  which  the  restless  title  was 
to  be  finally  " quieted"  and  the  trust  company  en 
abled  to  dispose  of  its  ward's  valuable  estate.  Some 
of  the  officers  and  larger  stockholders  of  the  trust 
company  were  interested  in  an  affiliated  institution 
known  as  the  Washington  Guaranty  and  Title  Com 
pany,  which  was  prepared  to  do  business  in  the  guar 
anteeing  of  real-estate  titles  that  were  from  one  rea 
son  or  another  defective,  which  it  is  needless  to  say 
the  majority  are.  For  a  reasonable  sum  this  new 
company  undertook  to  perfect  the  title  to  Clark's 
Field  and  then  to  insure  purchasers  and  sellers  against 
any  inconvenient  claims  that  might  arise  in  the 
future,  defending  the  title  against  all  comers  or  in 
case  of  defeat  assuming  the  losses.  A  very  conven 
ient  institution  in  a  society  where  the  laws  of  prop 
erty  are  so  intricate  and  sacred !  As  a  first  step  there 
was  an  extensive  public  advertisement  for  the  miss 
ing  heir  or  heirs,  and  then  in  due  form  a  "  judicial 
sale"  of  the  property  by  order  of  court,  after 
which  the  court  pronounced  the  title  to  Clark's  Field, 
so  long  clouded,  to  be  "quieted."  And  woe  to  any 
one  who  might  now  dare  to  raise  that  restless  spirit, 
be  he  Edward  S.  or  any  descendant  of  his ! 

86 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

This  legal  process  of  purification  for  Clark's  Field 
being  under  way,  the  ingenius  mind  of  Mr.  Ashly 
Crane  turned  to  the  next  problem,  which  was  to  dis 
pose  of  the  property  advantageously.  Manifestly  the 
Washington  Trust  Company  could  not  go  into  the 
real  estate  business  on  behalf  of  its  ward  and  peddle 
out  slices  of  her  Field.  That  would  not  be  proper, 
nor  would  it  be  especially  profitable  to  the  trust 
company.  Mr.  Crane,  therefore,  conceived  the  bril 
liant  idea  of  forming  a  "Clark's  Field  Associates" 
corporation  to  buy  the  undeveloped  tract  of  land 
from  the  trust  company,  who  as  guardian  could  sell  it 
in  whole  or  in  part,  and  the  new  corporation  might 
then  proceed  at  its  leisure  to  " develop"  the  old 
Field  advantageously.  For  the  benefit  of  the  igno 
rant  it  maybe  bluntly  stated  here  that  this  was  merely 
a  device  for  buying  Adelle's  property  cheaply  and 
selling  it  at  a  big  profit,  —  not  as  crude  a  method 
as  the  other  that  the  Veteran  had  almost  fallen  a 
victim  to,  because  the  Washington  Trust  Com 
pany  was  a  "high-toned"  institution  and  did  not 
do  things  crudely ;  but  in  effect  the  device  was  the 
same. 

The  Clark's  Field  Associates  was,  therefore,  incor 
porated  and  made  an  offer  to  the  trust  company  for 
Clark's  Field,  —  a  fair  offer  in  the  neighborhood  of  a 
million  dollars  for  the  fifty-acre  tract  of  city  land. 
An  obstacle,  however,  presented  itself  at  this  point, 
which  in  the  end  forced  the  Associates  to  modify 
their  plan  materially.  The  sale  had  to  be  approved 

87 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

by  the  probate  judge,  the  same  Judge  Orcutt  who 
had  once  before  befriended  the  unknown  little  girl. 
This  time  the  judge  examined  the  scheme  carefully, 
even  asked  for  a  list  of  the  Associates,  which  was 
an  innocent  collection  of  dummy  names,  and  finally 
after  conference  with  the  trust  officers  insisted  that 
the  ward  should  reserve  for  herself  one  half  the 
shares  of  the  Clark's  Field  Associates,  thus  obtain 
ing  an  interest  in  the  possible  benefits  to  be  derived 
from  their  transactions.  This  was  accordingly  done, 
and  the  subscription  to  the  stock  of  the  new  corpor 
ation  by  some  of  the  capitalists  who  had  been  invited 
to  "participate"  in  this  juicy  melon  was  cut  down 
one  half.  They  were  not  pleased  by  the  act  of  the 
probate  judge,  but  they  accepted  half  the  melon 
with  good  grace,  assuring  the  judge  through  Mr. 
Crane  that  it  was  a  highly  speculative  venture  any 
how  to  put  Clark's  Field  on  the  market,  and  the  As 
sociates  might  lose  every  penny  they  risked  on  it. 
The  judge  merely  smiled.  Poet  that  he  was,  he  was 
by  no  means  a  fool  in  the  affairs  of  this  life. 

When  Adelle  made  her  second  visit  to  the  Washing 
ton  Trust  Company,  the  scheme  outlined  above  had 
not  been  perfected,  but  the  legal  process  was  far 
enough  along  to  showpromise  of  a  brilliant  fulfillment. 
The  "queer  little  piece,"  as  Mr.  Gardiner  described 
Adelle  to  his  wife,  had  thus  grown  in  importance 
within  a  brief  year  to  such  dignified  persons  as  Presi 
dent  West  of  the  trust  company  and  the  wealthy 
stockholders  who  under  various  disguises  were  em- 

88 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

barking  upon  the  venture  of  the  Clark's  Field  Asso 
ciates.  She  was  no  longer  merely  the  heiress  of  a 
legal  mess:  she  was  the  means  by  which  a  power 
ful  modern  banking  institution  hoped  to  make  for 
its  inner  circle  of  patrons  a  very  profitable  invest 
ment.  So  these  gentlemen  examined  with  curiosity 
the  shy  little  person  who  slowly  advanced  across  the 
carpeted  floor  of  Mr.  Gardiner's  private  office.  The 
president  himself  rose  from  his  chair  and  extended 
to  Adelle  a  large,  handsome,  white  hand  with  the 
polite  greeting,  — 

"I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Clark." 
Adelle  was  more  than  ordinarily  dumb.  She  had 
expected  to  see  the  trust  officer  alone  as  she  had  the 
other  time,  and  in  the  presence  of  these  strangers 
she  took  her  one  means  of  defense,  —  silence.  The 
president,  however,  did  the  talking,  and  he  talked 
more  humanly  than  stuffy  Mr.  Gardiner.  After 
expressing  a  deep  sympathy  with  Adelle  for  the 
death  of  her  aunt  (of  whose  existence  he  had  not 
been  aware  before  this  week),  he  easily  shifted  to  the 
topic  of  Adelle's  future.  She  must,  of  course,  con 
tinue  her  education.  Adelle  replied  that  she  should 
like  to  keep  on  with  school,  by  which  she  meant  the 
Alton  Girls'  High. 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  the  president  said  easily. 
"  Every  girl  should  have  the  proper  sort  of  education, 
and  it  is  all  the  more  important  when  her  responsi 
bilities  and  opportunities  in  life  are  likely  to  be  in 
creased  by  the  possession  of  property." 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

But  Adelle  did  not  see  how  she  could  continue  at 
the  high  school,  now  that  her  aunt  had  died  and  there 
was  no  one  but  herself  to  look  after  the  roomers. 

"Oh,  very  easily,  very  easily,"  the  president 
thought.  "How  would  you  like  to  go  to  boarding- 
school,  my  dear?" 

Adelle  did  not  know  all  at  once.  She  had  read 
something  about  boarding-schools  in  story-books, 
but  her  conception  of  them  was  hazy.  And  she  ven 
tured  to  say  out  loud  that  they  must  take  a  "sight 
of  money."  The  president  of  the  trust  company 
smiled  for  the  benefit  of  his  fellow-officers  and  pro 
ceeded  to  break  the  news  of  the  rich  expectations 
awaiting  the  timid  little  girl. 

"I  think  we  shall  find  enough  money  somehow  to 
send  you  to  a  good  school,"  he  said  gayly.  "You 
know  we  have  some  money  in  the  bank  that  will  be 
yours,  —  oh,  not  a  great  deal  at  present,  but  enough 
to  give  you  a  good  education,  provided  you  don't 
spend  too  much  on  clothes,  young  lady." 

This  was  a  cruel  jest,  considering  the  quality  of 
Adelle's  one  poor  little  serge  dress  which  she  had  on, 
and  she  took  it  quite  literally.  While  absorbing  the 
idea  that  she  must  make  her  clothes  go  as  far  as  pos 
sible,  she  made  no  remark. 

"The  property  that  we  hold  in  trust  for  you  until 
you  shall  become  of  age,"  the  president  resumed 
more  seriously,  "is  not  yet  in  such  condition  that 
we  can  tell  you  exactly  how  much  it  will  amount  to. 
But  it  is  safe  to  say  that  all  your  reasonable  needs 

90 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

will  be  provided  for.  You'll  never  have  to  worry 
about  money!" 

He  congratulated  himself  upon  the  happy  phras 
ing  of  his  announcement.  It  was  cautiously  vague, 
and  yet  must  relieve  the  little  girl  of  all  apprehension 
or  worry.  Adelle  made  no  response.  For  a  Clark  to 
be  told  that  there  was  no  need  to  worry  over  money 
was  too  astounding  for  belief. 

"Now,"  said  the  president,  who  felt  that  he  had 
done  everything  called  for  in  the  situation,  "I  will 
leave  Mr.  Gardiner  to  explain  all  the  details  to  you. 
I  hope  you  will  enjoy  your  new  school.  .  .  .  When 
ever  you  are  in  the  city,  come  in  and  see  us!" 

He  shook  the  little  girl's  hand  and  went  off  with  his 
good-looking  young  assistant,  whose  sharp  glances 
had  made  Adelle  shyer  than  ever.  The  two  men 
smiled  as  they  went  out,  as  though  they  were  say 
ing  to  themselves,  —  "Queer  little  piece  to  have  all 
that  money!" 

Mr.  Gardiner  took  a  great  many  words  to  explain 
to  Adelle  that  her  guardians  had  thought  it  best 
"after  due  consideration"  to  send  her  to  an  excel 
lent  boarding-school  for  young  ladies  —  Herndon 
Hall.  He  rolled  the  name  with  an  unction  he  had 
learned  from  his  wife.  Herndon  Hall,  it  seemed,  was 
in  a  neighboring  State,  not  far  from  the  great  city 
of  New  York,  and  Adelle  must  prepare  herself  for 
her  first  long  railroad  journey.  She  would  not  have 
to  take  this  alone,  however,  for  Miss  Thompson,  the 
head  teacher,  had  telephoned  the  trust  company 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

that  she  herself  would  be  in  B on  the  following 

Friday  and  would  escort  Miss  Clark  to  the  Hall. 
Adelle  could  be  ready,  of  course,  by  Friday. 

Here  Adelle  demurred.  There  were  the  roomers 
—  what  would  happen  to  them?  And  the  old  Church 
Street  house  —  what  was  to  become  of  the  house? 
The  banker  waved  aside  these  practical  woman's 
considerations  with  a  smile.  Some  one  would  be  sent 
out  from  the  trust  company  to  look  after  all  such 
unimportant  matters.  So,  intimidated  rather  than 
persuaded,  Adelle  left  the  trust  company  building  to 
prepare  herself  for  her  new  life  that  was  to  begin  on 
the  following  Friday  noon. 

They  were  accustomed  to  doing  large  things  in  the 
Washington  Trust  Company,  and  of  course  they  did 
small  things  in  a  large  way.  But  the  little  orphan's 
fate  had  really  been  the  subject  of  more  consid 
eration  than  might  possibly  be  inferred  from  the 
foregoing.  The  school  matter  had  been  carefully 
canvassed  among  the  officers  of  the  company.  Mr. 
Gardiner  had  expressed  some  doubts  as  to  the  wis 
dom  of  sending  Adelle  at  once  to  a  large,  fashionable 
school,  even  if  she  had  the  money  to  pay  for  it.  Vague 
glimmerings  of  reason  as  to  what  really  might  make 
for  the  little  girl's  happiness  in  life  troubled  him,  even 
after  his  wife's  unhesitating  verdict.  But  President 
West  had  no  doubts  whatever  and  easily  bore  down 
his  scruples.  He  belonged  to  a  slightly  superior  class 
socially  and  did  not  hold  Herndon  Hall  in  the  same 
awe  in  which  it  was  regarded  in  the  Gardiner  house- 

92 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

hold.  His  daughters  had  friends  who  had  got  what 
education  they  had  under  Miss  Annette  Thompson 
and  had  married  well  afterwards  and  "  taken  a  good 
position  in  society,"  which  was  really  the  impor 
tant  thing.  Miss  Thompson  herself  was  of  a  very 
good  New  York  family,  —  he  had  known  her  father 
who  had  been  something  of  a  figure  in  finance  until 
the  crash  of  ninety-three,  —  and  the  head  of  Hern- 
don  Hall  was  reputed  to  have  an  excellent  "forma 
tive"  influence  upon  her  girls.  And  certainly  that 
raw  little  specimen  who  had  presented  herself  in 
his  office  needed  all  the  "formative  influence"  she 
could  get! 

"We  must  give  her  the  best,"  he  pronounced 
easily,  "for  she  is  likely  to  be  a  rich  woman  some 
day." 

It  may  be  seen  that  President  West  agreed  with 
Mrs.  Gardiner's  practical  interpretation  of  the  cate 
chism.  After  his  interview  with  Adelle  he  said  to  the 
trust  officer,  —  "She  needs  —  everything!  Hern- 
don  Hall  will  be  the  very  thing  for  her  —  will  teach 
her  what  a  girl  in  her  position  ought  to  know." 

These  remarks  reveal  on  his  part  a  special  philos 
ophy  that  will  become  clearer  as  we  get  to  know 
better  Miss  Annette  Thompson  and  Herndon  Hall. 
The  officers  of  the  trust  company  felt  that  in  sending 
their  ward  to  this  fashionable  girls'  school,  they  were 
doing  their  duty  by  her  not  only  safely  but  hand 
somely,  and  thenceforth  dismissed  her  from  their 
thoughts,  except  when  a  subordinate  brought  them 

93 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

at  regular  intervals  a  voucher  to  sign  before  issuing 
a  check  on  behalf  of  Adelle.  .  .  . 

"Terribly  crude  little  piece,"  the  president  of  the 
trust  company  said  of  Adelle,  thinking  of  his  own 
vivacious  daughters,  who  at  her  age  had  been  com 
plete  little  women  of  the  world,  and  of  all  the  other 
pretty,  confident,  voluble  girls  he  met  in  his  social 
life.  "She  has  seen  nothing  of  life,"  he  said  in 
extenuation,  by  which  he  meant  naturally  that 
Adelle  Clark  had  never  known  how  "nice  people 
live,"  had  never  been  to  dancing-school  or  parties, 
or  country  clubs  or  smart  dressmakers,  and  all 
the  rest  of  what  to  him  constituted  a  "suitable 
education"  for  a  young  girl  who  was  to  inherit 
money. 

Meanwhile  the  "crude  little  piece"  returned  to 
her  old  home,  somewhat  shaken  in  mind  by  what 
had  happened  to  her.  It  never  entered  her  little  head 
to  argue  with  the  august  officers  of  the  trust  com 
pany,  who  stood  to  her  as  the  sacred  symbol  of  Au 
thority.  She  must  buy  a  trunk,  pack  it,  and  be  at  the 
Eclair  Hotel  in  B by  noon  on  the  following  Fri 
day.  Those  were  her  orders.  She  looked  wonder- 
ingly  at  the  two  hundred  dollar  check  which  Mr.  Gar 
diner  had  given  her  for  the  expense  of  making  herself 
ready.  She  had  never  before  seen  two  hundred  dol 
lars.  She  knew  only  abstractly  by  the  way  of  her 
arithmetic  that  such  vast  sums  of  money  existed. 
And  now  she  was  expected  to  spend  this  fortune  in 

94 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  space  of  three  days  upon  herself.  She  folded 
up  the  slip  of  paper  and  tucked  it  carefully  into  her 
purse.  When  she  presented  it  at  one  of  the  shops  in 
the  Square  in  payment  for  the  cheap  trunk  she  had 
selected,  she  started  a  local  sensation.  By  the  time 
the  check  had  traveled  from  the  clerk  to  the  pro 
prietor  and  thence  to  the  River  National  Bank, 
which  did  not  take  long,  it  was  known  in  that  busy 
neighborhood  that  Clark's  Field  had  made  good  at 
last!  Here  was  ready  money  from  it  as  evidence. 
Adelle  Clark  was  in  fact  the  heiress  that  her  mother 
Addie  had  been  in  fancy. 

The  manager  of  the  livery-stable  may  have  had  his 
regrets  for  the  light  manner  in  which  he  had  treated 
old  Pike's  suggestion.  He  drove  the  girl  himself  into 
B on  Friday  with  her  new  trunk  strapped  be 
hind  the  closed  carriage  and  touched  his  high  hat  when 
she  dismounted  before  the  flunky-guarded  doors  of 
the  hotel.  Adelle  did  not  notice  the  hat  business: 
she  gave  her  old  friend  and  best  ''roomer"  her  hand 
as  she  said  good-bye,  then  slowly  mounted  the  stone 
steps  of  the  hotel.  And  that  was  the  last  that  Church 
Street  saw  of  the  Clarks. 

The  liveryman,  slowly  retracing  his  way  across  the 
bridge  to  Alton,  mused  upon  the  picture  that  the 
little  girl  presented  in  her  blue  school  suit,  going  up 
the  steps  of  the  Eclair  Hotel.  It  was  all  like  a  stage 
story,  he  felt,  and  he  thought  long  about  the  Clarks, 
whom  he  had  known  for  two  generations  and  about 
human  fate  generally.  He  summed  up  his  reflections 

95 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

in  one  enigmatic  exclamation,  —  "That  blamed  old 
pasture!" 

Adelle  was  an  "heiress."  Already  she  had  been 
whisked  away  from  Church  Street  to  her  new  life. 
And  all  because  of  "that  blamed  old  pasture"  — 
otherwise  Clark's  Field. 


XI 


THE  civilized  inhabitants  of  our  twentieth-century 
world  are  acquainted  with  many  more  kinds  of  tor 
ture  than  the  ingenious  managers  of  the  Inquisi 
tion  ever  dreamed  of  in  their  most  lurid  nightmares. 
And  of  all  these  peculiarly  modern  forms  of  torture, 
perhaps  the  fashionable  girls'  school  such  as  Hern- 
don  Hall  takes  first  rank.  A  boys'  school  of  the  same 
order  —  conducted  under  the  patronage  of  some 
holy  saint's  name  —  is  often  pretty  bad,  but  it  can 
not  rival  the  girls'  school  because  women  are  more 
skillful  in  applying  social  torture  and  have  a  thou 
sand  ways  of  doing  it  to  a  man's  or  boy's  one.  Even 
among  the  softest  and  snobbiest  of  boys  and  masters 
there  will  always  remain  a  residuum  of  male  self- 
respect.  If  the  newcomer,  no  matter  how  wrongly 
classed,  proves  that  he  has  physical  courage,  or  an 
aptitude  for  sports,  or  even  a  sunny,  common-sense 
disposition,  he  will  quickly  escape  from  his  proba 
tionary  period  of  torture  and  become  tolerated ;  while 
if  a  girl  appears  among  her  future  schoolmates  with 
an  ill-made,  unfashionable  frock,  or  has  manners 
that  betray  less  sophistication  than  is  to  be  expected, 
she  may  never  survive  the  torture  that  begins  on  the 
instant  and  follows  her  relentlessly,  in  the  school 
room  and  out,  until  she  either  adapts  herself  to  her 

97 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

environment,  becoming  in  turn  a  torturer,  or  is  re 
moved  to  a  more  congenial  environment. 

Adelle  Clark  presented  to  the  little  world  of  Hern- 
don  Hall  a  very  vulnerable  appearance  when  she 
arrived  at  the  school  on  that  Friday  evening.  She 
was  still  wearing  the  blue  serge  school  dress  that  she 
and  her  aunt  had  made  for  her  high-school  debut, 
also  some  coarse,  faded  brown  stockings,  and  stout 
cheap  shoes,  not  to  mention  an  unmentionable  hat 
of  no  style  at  all.  She  had  taken  that  unfortunate 
joke  of  the  trust  company's  president  literally:  she 
must  not  waste  her  substance  upon  clothes.  Even 
without  this  inhibition  she  had  scarcely  the  skill  and 
the  courage  necessary  to  spend  her  two  hundred  dol 
lars  to  advantage  in  three  days.  So  she  had  bought 
herself  a  trunk,  a  few  suits  of  much-needed  heavy 
underwear,  some  handkerchiefs,  and  a  coat  that  she 
had  desired  all  winter,  a  thick,  clumsy  affair  that 
completely  enveloped  her  slight  figure.  Then  her 
imagination  of  wants  had  given  out. 

The  young  teacher,  who  had  taken  Miss  Thomp 
son's  place  because  of  a  sudden  indisposition  that 
attacked  the  head  mistress,  had  made  Adelle  un 
comfortably  aware  that  something  was  wrong,  but 
she  put  down  her  coolness  and  unsympathetic  si 
lence  during  their  brief  journey  to  the  fact  that  Miss 
Stevens  was  a  " teacher"  and  therefore  felt  "supe 
rior."  "Rosy,"  as  the  older  Hall  girls  called  Miss 
Stevens,  was  not  at  all  "superior"  in  her  attitude  to 
the  girls.  She  dressed  quite  smartly  and  youthfully 

98 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  was  their  best  confidante.  But  she  had  received 
a  shock  when  she  saw  "that  little  fright"  (as  she 
reported  to  Miss  Thompson)  timidly  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  her  chair  in  the  parlor  of  the  Eclair  Hotel. 
"Where  can  she  come  from?"  she  had  said  to  her 
self;  and  later  she  had  supplemented  this  query  by 
thinking,  "wherever  it  was,  she  had  better  go  back 
to  it  as  fast  as  she  can  —  the  little  fright! " 

Fortunately  Adelle  did  not  understand  the  glances 
that  the  elegant  young  women  who  were  chattering 
in  the  Hall  drawing-room  before  dinner  cast  upon 
her  when  she  was  introduced  to  her  schoolmates. 
Nor  did  she  immediately  comprehend  the  intention 
of  the  insults  and  tortures  to  which  she  was  sub 
mitted  during  the  ensuing  year.  She  felt  lonely:  she 
missed  her  aunt  and  even  the  "roomers"  more  than 
she  had  expected  to.  But  gradually  even  into  her 
dumb  mind  there  penetrated  a  sense  of  undeserved 
ignominy,  not  clearly  localized,  because  she  did  not 
possess  a  sufficient  knowledge  of  sophisticated  man 
ners  to  realize  the  refined  nature  of  her  torture.  She 
had  merely  an  accumulating  sense  of  pain  and  out 
rage.  She  was  not  happy  in  Herndon  Hall:  she  did 
not  know  it  until  afterwards,  but  that  was  the  plain 
truth.  Nobody  wanted  her  there,  and  she  knew 
enough  to  understand  it.  Even  a  cat  or  a  dog  has 
sufficient  social  sense  for  that ! 

Externally  Herndon  Hall  was  all  that  was  charm 
ing  and  gracious  —  a  much  more  beautiful  and  re- 

99 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

fined  home  than  Adelle  had  ever  seen.  It  occupied 
one  of  those  spacious  old  manorial  houses  above  the 
Hudson,  where  the  river  swept  in  a  gracious  curve 
at  the  foot  of  the  long  lawn.  An  avenue  of  old  trees 
led  up  to  the  large  stone  house  from  the  high  road 
half  a  mile  away.  There  were  all  sorts  of  depen 
dencies,  —  stables,  greenhouses,  and  ornamental 
gardens  of  the  old-fashioned  kind,  —  which  were 
carefully  kept  up  so  that  the  Hall  resembled  a  large 
private  estate,  such  as  it  was  meant  to  be,  rather 
than  a  school.  It  was  popularly  supposed  that  Hern- 
don  Hall  had  once  been  the  country-place  of  Miss 
Thompson's  people,  which  was  not  true;  but  that 
shrewd  woman  of  the  world,  recognizing  all  the  ad 
vantages  of  an  aristocratic  background,  kept  up  the 
place  on  a  generous  footing,  with  gardeners,  stable 
men,  and  many  inside  servants,  for  which,  of  course, 
the  pupils  paid  liberally.  The  Hall  was  run  less  as  a 
school  than  as  a  private  estate.  Many  of  the  girls 
had  their  own  horses  in  the  stable,  and  rode  every 
pleasant  afternoon  under  the  care  of  an  old  Eng 
lish  riding-master,  who  was  supposed  to  have  been 
"Somebody  in  England "  once.  (Later  on,  when  the 
motor  became  popular  the  girls  had  their  own  ma 
chines,  but  that  was  after  Adelle's  time.)  There 
was  lawn  tennis  on  the  ample  lawns,  and  this  with 
the  horseback  riding  and  occasional  strolls  was 
the  only  concession  to  the  athletic  spirit  of  the 
day. 
The  schoolrooms  were  not  the  feature  of  the  Hall 

100 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

that  one  might  expect.  They  were  confined  to  a 
small  wing  in  the  rear,  or  the  basement,  and  there 
were  no  laboratories  or  other  paraphernalia  of  mod 
ern  education.  The  long  drawing-room,  with  its  re 
cessed  windows  facing  the  river,  was  hung  with  "old 
masters"  —  a  few  faded  American  protraits  and 
some  recent  copies  of  the  Italian  school.  It  was  also 
furnished  luxuriously  and  had  books  in  handsome 
bindings.  But  educationally,  in  any  accepted  sense 
of  the  word,  Herndon  Hall  was  quite  negligible,  as 
all  such  institutions  for  the  care  of  the  daughters  of 
the  rich  must  be,  as  long  as  the  chief  concern  of  its 
patrons  is  to  see  their  daughters  properly  married 
and  "taking  a  good  position  in  society."  Adelle 
quickly  perceived  that,  though  she  had  been  reck 
oned  a  dull  pupil  in  the  Alton  Girls'  High  School,  she 
had  much  more  than  enough  book  knowledge  to  hold 
her  own  in  the  classes  of  her  new  school.  If  it  is  diffi 
cult  to  say  what  is  a  good  education  for  a  boy  whose 
parents  can  afford  to  give  him  "the  best,"  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  solve  the  educational  riddle  for 
his  sister.  She  must  have  good  manners,  an  attrac 
tive  person,  and,  less  clearly,  some  acquaintance 
with  literature,  music,  and  art,  and  one  modern  lan 
guage  to  enable  her  to  hold  her  own  in  the  social 
circles  that  it  is  presumed  she  will  adorn.  At  least 
that  was  the  way  Miss  Thompson  looked  at  the  pro 
found  problem  of  girls'  education.  She  herself  was 
accounted  "accomplished,"  a  "brilliant  conversa 
tionalist,"  and  "broadly  cultured,"  with  the  confi- 

10 1 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

dent  air  that  the  best  society  is  supposed  to  give, 
and  her  business  was  to  impart  some  of  this  polish  to 
her  pupils.  "Conversation,"  it  may  be  added,  was 
one  of  the  features  of  Herndon  Hall. 

Art,  music,  and  literature  did  not  seem  to  awaken 
Adelle's  dormant  mind  any  more  than  had  the  rigor 
ous  course  of  the  public  schools.  She  did  as  most  of 
the  girls  did,  —  nothing,  —  coming  unprepared  day 
after  day  to  her  recitations  to  be  helped  through  the 
lessons  by  the  obliging  teachers,  who  professed  to 
care  little  for  "mere  scholarship"  and  strove  rather 
to  "awaken  the  intelligence"  and  "stir  the  spirit," 
"educate  the  taste,"  and  all  the  rest  of  the  fluff  with 
which  an  easy  age  excuses  its  laziness.  The  girls  at 
Herndon  Hall  impudently  bluffed  their  teachers  or 
impertinently  replied  that  they  "did  n't  remember," 
just  like  their  papas  and  future  husbands  when  they 
were  cornered  on  the  witness  stand  by  inconvenient 
questions  about  shady  transactions. 

The  tone  of  the  school  was  distinctly  fashionable, 
also  idle  and  luxurious,  which  was  what  its  patrons 
desired.  Many  of  the  mothers  and  other  female  rela 
tives  of  the  girls,  besides  the  "old  girls"  themselves, 
ran  up  to  the  school  from  New  York,  which  was  not 
far  away,  bringing  with  them  a  rich  atmosphere  of 
jewels,  clothes,  and  gossip  that  seemed  to  hang 
about  the  large  drawing-room  of  the  stately  stone 
mansion.  The  more  fortunate  pupils  found  frequent 
excuses  for  getting  down  to  the  gay  city  for  the 
theater  and  parties,  and  there  were  besides  boys 

102 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

from  a  neighboring  college,  with  parties  to  the  races, 
all  discreetly  chaperoned,  of  course. 

Miss  Thompson  was  at  great  pains  to  maintain 
what  the  "old  Hall  girls"  called  the  "tone  of  Hern- 
don,"  so  that  careful  mothers  and  fathers  should 
have  no  hesitation  in  confiding  to  it  their  daughters 
from  fear  that  they  might  encounter  "undesirable 
associates."  In  all  the  years  of  its  existence  Miss 
Thompson  had  never  admitted  a  member  of  a  cer 
tain  religious  creed.  Yet  latterly  there  had  been 
rumors  that  the  Hall  was  not  what  it  once  had  been. 
There  were  too  many  ' '  Western ' '  girls :  some  said 
Herndon  was  getting  "Pittsburghy."  There  were 
certain  lively  daughters  of  Western  millionaires,  two 
in  especial  from  the  great  State  of  California  whom 
Adelle  later  on  was  thrown  with,  who  did  not  add  to 
the  exclusive  atmosphere  of  the  Hall. 

The  path  of  the  manager  of  a  fashionable  school 
is  by  no  means  an  easy  one.  It  is,  in  fact,  as 
Miss  Thompson  had  found,  more  difficult  than  the 
famous  eye  of  the  needle.  For  if  she  were  so  scrup 
ulous  as  to  bar  out  all  the  daughters  of  new  wealth, 
she  was  in  danger  of  lacking  that  material  support 
without  which  Herndon  Hall  could  not  be  main 
tained.  And  if  she  admitted  too  freely  rich  "West 
ern  girls"  whose  parents  were  "nobodies,"  but  were 
keenly  anxious  to  have  their  daughters  become 
"somebodies,"  she  was  in  danger  of  watering  her 
wine  to  the  point  where  it  would  lose  all  its  po 
tency.  A  constant  equilibrium  between  the  good- 

103 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

family  class  and  the  merely  rich  must  be  maintained 
if  the  school  was  to  preserve  its  position.  And  so  it 
can  be  understood  why  the  proprietor  and  the  teach 
ers  of  Herndon  Hall  carefully  scrutinized  Adelle  on 
her  first  appearance.  Would  she  merely  water  their 
precious  wine?  If  so  she  must  be  very  rich,  indeed, 
to  compensate  for  her  diluting  presence.  Miss 
Thompson  had  accepted  her  on  the  strength  of 
President  West's  personal  letter,  and  it  did  not  take 
her  long  to  discover  that  she  had  made  a  grave  mis 
take.  Adelle  was  all  water! 

She  folded  up  her  napkin  at  dinner  in  the  thrifty 
manner  of  the  Church  Street  house.  She  ate  her 
soup  from  the  point  of  her  spoon,  and  the  wrong 
spoon,  and  she  wore  her  one  dress  from  the  time  she 
got  up  in  the  morning  until  she  went  to  bed.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  the  solid  social  position  of  President 
West  and  the  prestige  of  the  trust  company,  whose 
ward  she  was,  it  is  probable  that  Adelle  would  have 
been  sent  packing  by  the  end  of  the  second  day.  As 
it  was,  the  head  mistress  said  to  Miss  Stevens,  with 
a  sigh  of  commendable  Christian  resignation,  — 
"We  must  do  our  best  for  the  poor  little  thing  — 
send  her  in  to  me  after  dinner." 

When  Adelle  entered  the  private  sitting-room  of 
the  head  mistress,  she  expected  to  be  given  direc 
tions  about  her  classes.  Not  at  all.  Miss  Thom 
son,  who  still  seemed  to  be  suffering  from  the  indis 
position  that  Adelle  found  frequently  attacked  her, 
looked  her  over  coldly  as  she  sipped  her  coffee  and 

104 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

remarked  that  she  "  must  have  something  fit  to  wear 
at  once."  She  put  the  little  girl  through  a  careful 
examination  as  to  the  contents  of  her  trunk,  with  the 
result  that  in  a  few  days  Adelle's  wardrobe  was  mar- 
velously  increased  with  a  supply  of  suitable  frocks 
for  all  occasions,  slippers,  lingerie,  and  hats,  and  the 
bill  was  sent  to  the  trust  company,  which  honored 
it  promptly  without  question,  not  knowing  exactly 
what  a  girl  ought  to  cost.  Having  equipped  her  pu 
pil  "decently,"  Miss  Thompson  observed  "that  she 
did  n't  have  an  idea  how  to  wear  her  clothes,"  but 
she  trusted  to  the  spirit  of  the  school  to  correct  that 
deficiency.  Next  she  sent  Adelle  to  the  dentist  and  '' 
had  her  teeth  straightened,  —  a  painful  operation 
that  dragged  through  several  years  at  great  cost  of 
time  and  money,  and  resulted  finally  in  a  set  of  regu 
lar  teeth  that  looked  much  like  false  ones.  Having 
provided  for  her  outside,  the  teachers  turned  their 
attention  to  her  manners  and  "form,"  and  here  lay 
Adelle's  worst  mental  torture.  That  young  teacher, 

"  Rosy  "  Stevens,  who  had  fetched  her  from  B , 

had  this  task.  "Rosy,"  who  was  only  thirty,  was 
supposed  to  be  having  "a  desperate  affair  of  the 
heart"  with  an  actor,  which  she  discussed  with 
the  older  girls.  She  was  the  most  popular  chap- 
erone  in  the  school  because  she  was  "dead  easy" 
and  connived  at  much  that  might  have  resulted 
scandalously.  "Rosy"  shared  the  girls'  tastes 
for  sweets,  dress,  and  jewelry,  and  smuggled  into 
the  Hall,  not  candy  —  because  that  was  openly  per- 

105 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

mitted  in  any  quantity —  but  forbidden  "  naughty" 
novels. 

Miss  Stevens  had  the  deadliest  weapon  at  her  com 
mand  that  Adelle  had  ever  encountered  —  sarcasm. 
"My  dear  girl,"  she  would  say  before  a  tableful  of 
girls,  in  the  pityingly  sweet  tone  of  an  experienced 
woman  of  the  world  to  a  vulgar  nobody,  "how  can 
;  you  speak  like  that ! ' '  (This  when  Adelle  had  emitted 
the  vernacular  grunt  in  answer  to  some  question.) 
"  You  are  not  a  little  ape,  my  dear."  Then  she  would 
mimic  in  her  dainty  drawl  Adelle's  habit  of  speech, 
which,  of  course,  set  all  the  girls  at  the  table  titter 
ing.  Adelle  naturally  did  not  love  "Rosy,"  but  she 
was  helpless  before  her  darts.  The  other  teachers 
generally  ignored  her  presence,  treating  her  with  the 
perfect  politeness  of  complete  indifference.  Once, 
soon  after  her  arrival,  the  child  was  caught  talking 
with  one  of  the  housemaids  in  the  upper  corridor, 
and  was  severely  reprimanded.  She  had  merely 
sought  for  a  ray  of  human  sunlight,  but  she  was  told 
that  young  women  of  her  station  in  life  were  never 
familiar  with  servants.  In  a  word,  Adelle  was  more 
nearly  encased  in  an  airproof  lining  at  Herndon  Hall 
than  ever  before,  and  remained  for  another  two 
years  the  pale,  furtive,  undeveloped  child  she  was 
when  she  first  came.  Some  cures,  it  seems,  are  so 
radical  that  they  paralyze  the  nervous  system  and 
develop  rather  than  cure  the  disease.  Such  was  the 
case  of  Adelle  in  Herndon  Hall.  For  nearly  two  years 
she  sneaked  about  its  comfortable  premises,  a  silent, 

106 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

forlorn,  miserable  little  being,  frightened  at  what 
she  could  not  understand,  ready  for  a  blow,  but  not 
keen  enough  to  put  up  a  protecting  hand.  The  ver 
dict  of  the  school  was  that  "the  little  fright  of  a 
Clark  girl "  was  too  stupid  to  learn  anything.  As  one 
girl  said  to  "Rosy,"  —  "The  Clark  girl  must  have 
piles  of  money  to  be  here  at  all." 

And  the  teacher  replied,  —  "She'll  need  it  all, 
every  cent,  she's  so  deadly  common." 

Let  no  reader  suppose  that  Herndon  Hall  in 
which  Adelle  was  suffering  her  martyrdom  is  typical 
of  all  fashionable  girls'  boarding-schools.  In  a  real 
sense  nothing  in  this  life  is  sufficiently  universal  to 
be  considered  typical.  There  are  to-day  many 
schools  that  have  some  of  the  characteristics  of 
Herndon  Hall,  though  fortunately  fewer  than  there 
were  when  Adelle  got  her  education.  But  even  at 
that  time  there  were  many  excellent  schools  for  girls 
where  the  teachers  made  sincere  efforts  to  teach  the 
girls  something,  where  the  girls  were  human  and 
well-bred,  and  the  teachers  were  kind  and  sympa 
thetic  and  would  not  have  tolerated  such  conduct 
as  went  on  almost  openly  in  this  "exclusive"  estab 
lishment,  nor  such  brutal  treatment  as  the  girls 
dealt  out  to  Adelle. 

Herndon  Hall,  with  its  utterly  false  standards 
of  everything  that  concerns  woman's  being,  was 
the  fruit  of  those  ideals  that  have  obtained  about 
women,  their  position  and  education,  for  many  cen- 

107 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

turies.  And  Herndon  Hall  was  Adelle's  accident  — 
the  fate  to  which  the  trust  officers  in  all  good  will 
consigned  her.  There  always  is  and  must  be,  even 
in  our  own  enlightened  age  of  feminist  movements, 
a  Herndon  Hall  —  perhaps  more  than  one.  Parents 
who  believe  that  marriage  and  "a  suitable  position 
in  society"  are  all  there  is  in  life  for  a  woman  will 
always  create  Herndon  Halls. 


XII 


IF  the  history  of  Clark's  Field  and  those  whom  it 
concerned  were  an  idealistic  or  romantic  story,  striv 
ing  to  present  the  world  as  it  ought  to  be  rather  than 
as  it  often  happens  to  be,  our  little  heroine  should 
at  this  crisis  awaken  from  her  apathy.  Her  spark 
of  a  soul  should  be  touched  by  some  sympathetic 
agent,  —  one  of  the  teachers  who  had  lived  sadly 
and  deeply,  or  some  generous  exception  among  her 
school-fellows,  who  would  extend  a  protecting  wing 
to  the  persecuted  girl.  No  doubt  even  in  Herndon 
Hall  there  were  such  who  might  have  answered  at  a 
pinch  to  regenerate  Adelle  and  start  her  forth  on 
a  series  of  physical  if  not  spiritual  adventures  that 
would  be  exhilarating  to  the  reader.  But  nothing  of 
the  sort  came  into  her  life  at  this  period.  She  was 
too  unpromising  to  arouse  the  incipient  Samaritans. 
There  was,  of  course,  the  religious  or  rather  the 
church  side  of  the  school  in  which  Adelle  might 
have  taken  refuge.  This  consisted  of  attending  the 
small  Episcopal  Church  in  the  neighboring  village, 
where  the  excellent  rector,  a  married  man  and  the 
father  of  daughters,  often  directed  his  discourses  at 
the  Hall  pews.  But  Adelle  was  no  more  religiously 
minded  than  her  worldly  little  associates.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  service  of  ritualistic  beauty  to 

109 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

arouse  a  latent  sensuousness  —  nothing  of  color  or 
form  or  sound.  Religion  in  fact  had  even  less  to  do 
with  daily  life  in  Herndon  Hall,  in  spite  of  weekly 
church  and  morning  prayers,  than  it  had  in  the 
Church  Street  house.  There  was  more  or  less  talk 
about  "the  Church"  and  "the  spiritual  life,"  but, 
as  Adelle  soon  perceived,  the  girls  lied,  cheated  in 
their  lessons,  spoke  spitefully  of  one  another  —  did 
even  worse  —  quite  as  people  acted  in  the  world  out 
side.  Even  the  teachers,  she  learned  after  a  time, 
failed  to  connect  the  religious  life  with  their  personal 
conduct.  "Rosy,"  the  teacher  with  whom  she  had 
most  to  do  the  first  year,  aimed  to  be  the  companion 
rather  than  the  guide  of  the  girls  in  their  frequent 
escapades.  Miss  Thompson  herself,  it  was  whis 
pered  among  the  older  girls,  suffered  from  something 
worse  than  "neuralgia"  in  those  frequent  attacks 
which  incapacitated  her.  As  for  the  general  morale 
of  the  school,  even  more  serious  things  could  be  said 
if  it  were  not  for  fear  that  the  authorities  of  Herndon 
Hall  and  others  of  a  similar  mind  might  ban  this  tale 
as  unfit  for  "nice  girls"  to  peruse,  although  they 
tolerate  the  deeds  themselves.  Of  such  matters,  to  be 
sure,  Adelle  knew  nothing  until  later,  for  at  first  she 
was  so  much  an  outsider  that  she  was  not  allowed  to 
look  beneath  the  decorous  surface,  and  experienced 
merely  petty  attacks  of  selfishness  and  snobbery. 

She  might  never  have  got  completely  beneath  the 
surface  if  she  had  not  been  obliged  to  spend  all  her 
vacations  at  the  Hall.  The  teachers  were  then  off 

no 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

duty,  when  they  were  not  visiting  at  the  homes  of 
their  pupils,  and  spoke  and  acted  before  the  silent 
girl  quite  freely  because  they  considered  her  lacking 
mentally  and  harmless.  And  she  was  allowed  to 
converse  occasionally  with  the  house  servants,  who 
sometimes  spoke  openly  about  Herndon  Hall.  She 
knew  that  the  teachers  had  lively  parties  where  wine 
was  served  freely.  Adelle  was  supposed  to  be  in  her 
room  on  the  third  floor  when  these  festivities  were 
in  progress,  but  she  could  not  be  unaware  of  them. 
And  once  she  encountered  "  Rosy  "  in  a  curious  state 
of  exaltation  that  filled  her  with  fear.  At  that  time 
she  did  not  understand  the  working  of  wine  upon  the 
spirit.  .  .  . 

She  was,  of  course,  often  dull  and  lonely,  especially 
the  first  summer  in  the  empty  house  above  the  steam 
ing  river.  It  was  too  hot  much  of  the  time  to  do 
more  than  loll  about  the  porches  with  a  book  or  some 
sewing.  She  tried  to  do  a  little  gardening  because 
she  liked  flowers,  and  occasionally  took  walks  alone 
into  the  country.  It  was  a  lazy,  unwholesome  exist 
ence,  and  she  was  surprised  to  find  herself  looking 
forward  to  the  day  when  her  tormentors  would  re 
turn  and  the  routine  of  school  life  would  begin  once 
more.  During  this  first  long  vacation  Mrs.  Gardiner 
made  a  feeble  effort  "to  do  something"  for  the  trust 
company's  ward.  She  asked  Adelle  for  a  week's  visit 
in  the  mountains,  and  shy  as  she  was  Adelle  longed 
for  that  week  at  the  end  of  August  as  an  escape  from 
prison.  But,  alas,  the  Gardiner  children  inoppor- 

iii 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

timely  contracted  some  minor  disease  and  Mrs. 
Gardiner  wrote  to  recall  her  invitation.  Providence 
seemed  determined  to  do  nothing  more  for  Adelle 
at  present. 

The  only  other  event  of  this  twelve  weeks  was  the 
letter  she  wrote  to  Mr.  Lovejoy,  the  manager  of  the 
livery-stable  in  Alton.  This  was  the  result  of  an  acute 
attack  of  loneliness  when,  after  a  thorough  canvass 
of  her  friends,  Mr.  Lovejoy's  name  was  the  only  one 
she  could  think  of.  She  told  him  in  her  little  letter 
about  the  school,  said  she  missed  the  Church  Street 
house,  and  asked  specifically  after  certain  "room 
ers."  But  she  never  received  a  reply.  Whether  the 
teachers  suppressed  Mr.  Lovejoy's  letter,  or  he  had 
never  received  Adelle's,  or,  which  was  more  likely,  he 
was  not  sufficiently  stimulated  by  the  girl's  epistle 
to  answer  her,  she  never  knew.  After  that  one  at 
tempt  Adelle  made  no  effort  to  reach  back  into  her 
past:  she  accepted  the  present  with  that  strange 
stoicism  that  young  people  sometimes  exhibit. 

At  last  when  she  had  laboriously  completed"  Little 
Dorrit ' '  and  was  beginning  heavily  upon  the ' '  Christ 
mas  Stories,"  the  vacation  came  to  an  end  and  the 
Herndon  girls  returned  for  the  fall  term.  Adelle  was 
now  a  familiar  figure  to  them,  and  therefore  less  in 
teresting  to  snub.  She  was  merely  ignored,  which  did 
not  hurt  her.  Whatever  might  have  been  her  slender 
expectations  of  happiness,  she  must  have  long  since 
given  up  any  idea  of  accomplishing  them  like  other 
girls.  She  was  becoming  a  perfect  small  realist,  con- 

112 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

tent  to  take  the  facts  of  life  for  what  they  seemed.  She 
watched  without  conscious  pain  or  envy  the  flurry 
of  greetings  and  boastful  exchanges  of  experiences 
among  the  girls  the  first  day  of  their  return  to  school. 
She  was  either  ignored  or  pased  by  with  a  polite  nod 
and  a  "  Hello,  Adelle!  Did  you  have  a  good  time 
with  Rosy?"  —  while  the  other  girls  gathered  into 
knots  and  resorted  to  each  others'  rooms  for  deeper 
confidences.  It  was  an  old  story  now,  being  an  out 
sider,  and  the  small,  unobtrusive  girl  of  fifteen  was 
fast  sinking  into  a  state  of  apathy  —  the  most  dan 
gerous  condition  of  all. 

The  new  school  year,  however,  brought  her  some 
thing  —  the  arrival  of  a  friend.  As  she  was  dawd 
ling  with  a  book  in  a  corner  of  the  drawing-room, 
watching  a  circle  of  "old  girls "  who  were  whispering 
and  giggling  over  some  vacation  tale,  a  small  voice 
came  to  her  ears,  — 

"Is  it  that  you  also  are  strange  here?" 

Adelle  was  so  surprised  at  being  addressed,  also 
at  the  foreign-looking  girl  who  had  spoken,  that  she 
did  not  answer,  and  the  other  continued  with  a  smile 
on  her  singularly  red  lips,  — 

"I  speak  English  ver — ver  badly!" 

"What  is  your  name?"  Adelle  asked  bluntly. 

"Diane  Merelda,"  the  girl  said  in  a  liquid  tone. 

"What?"  Adelle  asked  with  puckered  brows. 

"  Di-ane  Merel-da,"  came  more  slowly  in  the  same 
soft  tone.  "See!"  She  took  with  a  gracious  move 
ment  the  pencil  from  Adelle's  hand  and  wrote  on  a 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

piece  of  paper  the  name,  and  added  beneath  in  small 
letters  "F.  de  M." 

"Oh,"  said  Adelle,  "what  do  those  mean?"  point 
ing  to  the  letters  beneath. 

"Fille  de  Marie  —  a  daughter  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,"  the  girl  translated  sweetly. 

Adelle  looked  at  the  stranger  in  bewilderment.  She 
was  a  dainty  person,  as  small  as  Adelle,  but  a  per 
fectly  formed  young  woman.  Her  black  hair  was 
tightly  braided  over  her  small  head,  in  a  fashion  then 
strange,  and  her  face  was  very  pale,  of  a  natural 
pallor  emphasized  by  the  line  of  carmine  lips.  Her 
eyes  were  black  and  wide.  She  smiled  gently,  con 
tentedly,  upon  Adelle.  Altogether  she  was  an  un 
usual  phenomenon  to  the  young  American.  She 
explained  herself  volubly  if  not  fluently  in  broken 
English,  pausing  every  now  and  then  with  a  charm 
ing  birdlike  toss  of  her  little  black  head  and,  "You 
say  so,  no?"  —  waiting  for  Adelle's  nod  to  dash  on 
into  further  intricacies  of  speech. 

Miss  Diane  Merelda,  as  she  told  Adelle  Clark,  was 
the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  Mexican  whose  acquaint 
ance  with  Americans  had  so  liberalized  him  that  he 
preferred  to  educate  his  children  in  the  States  and 
in  schools  not  under  Catholic  control.  Senorita  Diane 
had  left  her  father's  home  in  Morelos  earlier  than 
intended,  however,  because  of  the  outbreak  of  an 
insurrection  in  the  province,  in  which  her  father 
was  concerned.  As  his  hagienda  near  Morelos  was 
not  safe  on  account  of  brigands,  Senor  Merelda 

114 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

had  sent  his  wife  and  daughter  abroad  to  join  his 
sons,  and  so  Diane  had  reached  Herndon  Hall  by 
the  way  of  Madrid,  Paris,  and  New  York,  after  a 
summer  spent  with  relatives  in  Spain.  Her  mother 
had  learned  of  Herndon  Hall  from  a  chance  traveling 
companion,  and  in  some  way  had  induced  Miss 
Thompson  to  waive  her  strict  requirements  for  ad 
mission. 

From  her  way  of  dressing  her  hair  to  her  pointed 
slippers  and  broken  English,  the  little  Mexican  was 
even  more  markedly  different  from  the  Herndon 
type  than  Adelle,  and  though  the  older  girls  knew 
enough  of  the  world  to  recognize  a  distinction  in  dif 
ferences,  Diane  did  not  seem  to.  She  was  gracious  to 
all,  and  Adelle  happened  to  be  the  first  girl  she  could 
speak  to  while  she  waited  for  her  mother,  who  was 
closeted  with  Miss  Thompson.  Here  was  Adelle's 
chance,  although  she  did  not  recognize  it  as  such. 
They  talked  for  an  hour,  rather  Diane  talked  and 
Adelle  did  her  best  to  understand  the  rapid,  lisp 
ing,  birdlike  notes  of  the  foreigner.  She  learned  that 
Diane  had  a  brother  in  a  school  near  St.  Louis,  an 
other  in  a  technical  college,  and  still  another  now 
in  Germany.  The  Merelda  family  seemed  much  scat 
tered,  but  that  did  not  disturb  the  little  Mexican. 

"  We  shall  all  be  back  in  Morelos  sometime! "  She 
added  sweetly,  "  Perhaps  you  will  come  to  Mexico 
with  me,  no?" 

Adelle  soon  learned  all  about  Madrid,  the  Span 
ish  relatives,  the  sight  of  the  young  King  of  Spain 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

at  San  Sebastian,  the  trip  to  Lourdes  which  the  fam 
ily  had  taken  in  hope  that  the  holy  cure  might  help 
her  mother's  lame  knee,  and  too  much  else  to  relate 
here.  Senorita  Diane  was  exceedingly  loquacious: 
her  little  tongue  wove  in  and  out  of  the  new  idiom 
with  surprising  facility,  forever  wagging  in  a  low, 
sweet  babble  of  nothings.  Adelle,  as  has  been  suf 
ficiently  indicated,  absorbed  passively  the  small  and 
the  large  facts  of  life.  Diane  was  like  a  twittering 
bird  on  a  tiny  twig  that  shook  with  the  vehemence 
of  her  expression.  She  reacted  instinctively  to  every 
stimulus  from  a  new  toothbrush  to  the  sight  of  a 
motor-car,  and  she  prefered  not  to  react  alone.  Thus 
Adelle  did  more  talking  of  her  blunt,  bald  kind  to 
her  new  friend  than  she  had  accomplished  hitherto 
all  her  life.  She  explained  Herndon  Hall  literally 
to  the  stranger,  while  Diane  exclaimed  in  three  lan 
guages. 

The  presence  of  the  little  Mexican  in  the  school 
did  much  to  ameliorate  Adelle's  lonely  lot^this  second 
year.  She  formed  a  connecting  link  of  a  sort  between 
her  and  the  rest  of  her  schoolmates,  who  liked  the 
foreigner.  Diane  reported  fully  to  Adelle  what  the 
other  girls  were  doing,  —  how  Betty  Langton  was 
in  love  with  an  actor  and  for  this  reason  went  to 
New  York  almost  every  week  on  one  excuse  or  an 
other;  how  the  two  Californians,  Irene  and  Sadie 
Paul,  had  a  party  in  their  room  the  night  before, 
with  wine,  much  wine.  Diane  shook  her  head 
wonderingly  over  all  these  doings  of  "the  Ameri- 

116 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

cans."  American  girls  seemed  to  her  all  "queer," 
and,  though  she  did  not  say  so,  rather  vulgar  and 
underbred.  Oddly  enough  she  put  Adelle  apart  in 
this  sweeping  judgment,  for  she  was  not  able  to 
appreciate  Adelle's  common  accent  and  primitive 
manners.  Adelle  did  not  snub  nor  condescend  nor 
do  "naughty"  things,  and  so,  from  the  Mexican's 
standard,  a  simple  and  somewhat  antiquated  one, 
Adelle  was  a  lady.  Diane  concluded  that  she  must  ; 
be  poor  and  for  that  reason  the  other  girls  treated 
her  badly.  To  be  poor  was  no  disgrace  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Mexican.  Many  of  the  best  people  she  had 
known,  including  her  Spanish  relatives,  were  dread 
fully  poor,  but  none  the  less  to  be  considered.  Pov 
erty  was  a  matter  of  God's  will  in  the  delightful 
Latin  sense  of  the  word,  not  a  matter  of  inherited 
personal  disgrace  as  in  a  free,  Anglo-Saxon  democ 
racy. 

11 1  do  not  like  your  America,"  she  said  gravely  to 
Adelle  after  she  had  been  a  couple  of  months  in  the 
school.  "  Not  to  live  in  always  when  I  am  married." 

"What 's  the  matter  with  America?  "  Adelle  asked. 

"It  is  all  money,  money,"  the  little  Mexican  re 
plied.  "  You  come  to  see  nothing  in  your  heart  but 
dollars,  dollars,  dollars.  It  makes  the  heart  heavy." 

Adelle,  who  had  never  looked  at  the  world  in  this 
light,  thought  Diane  a  little  "queer."  Nevertheless 
they  were  good  friends  as  school-girl  friendships  go 
and  consoled  each  other  for  what  they  lacked  in  their 
common  environment. 

117 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Another  event  of  this  new  year  was  perhaps  even 
more  momentous  to  Adelle  than  the  arrival  of  the 
little  Mexican,  and  that  was  the  visit  paid  to  her 
shortly  after  her  sixteenth  birthday  by  one  of  the 
trust  company's  officers.  It  was  Mr.  Ashly  Crane 
—  the  new  trust  officer,  in  fact  —  who  rode  up  the 
winding  avenue  from  the  river  road  in  one  of  the 
noisy,  new-fangled  motors  that  announced  itself 
from  afar.  Mr.  Gardiner,  it  seemed,  had  been  retired 
from  his  position  as  trust  officer  and  was  no  longer 
to  be  the  human  symbol  of  Adelle's  wardship  to  the 
trust  company.  The  new  trust  officer  had  not  of  de 
sign  chosen  the  occasion  of  the  ward's  birthday  to  pay 
her  a  visit.  Happening  to  be  in  the  neighboring  city 
of  Albany  with  a  few  hours  on  his  hands  before  he 
could  make  connections  for  the  West,  he  bethought 
himself  of  the  trust  company's  young  charge  and 
ran  out  to  look  over  the  school  and  incidentally 
Adelle.  No  one  from  the  Washington  Trust  Com 
pany  had  ever  paid  its  ward  a  visit,  —  Adelle  was 
the  only  unvisited  girl  in  the  school,  —  but  Mr. 
Ashly  Crane  was  the  kind  of  vigorous  young  banker, 
not  yet  quite  forty,  who  could  be  depended  upon 
to  "keep  in  personal  touch"  with  all  his  clients. 
That  is  why,  probably,  he  had  superseded  Mr. 
Gardiner,  who  had  a  staid  habit  of  relying  upon 
printed  forms  and  the  mail. 

Mr.  Ashly  Crane  was  a  good-looking,  keen  Ameri 
can  banker,  who  paid  strict  attention  to  his  manners, 
clothes,  and  habits.  He  was  ambitious,  of  course, 

118 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  had  been  so  busily  climbing  upwards  from  his 
first  clerkship  in  the  trust  company  that  he  had  not 
yet  married.  Very  likely  he  felt  that  with  his  ever- 
widening  horizon  of  prospects  it  would  not  be  wise  to 
anchor  himself  socially  to  any  woman,  who  might 
prove  to  be  a  drag  upon  his  future.  He  was  still  well 
within  the  marriageable  limits  and  looked  even 
younger.  Nothing  so  well  preserves  youth  as  Suc 
cess,  and  of  this  tonic  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  had  had  an 
abundance.  Mr.  Crane,  it  should  not  be  thought,  had 
armed  himself  with  a  bunch  of  enormous  red  roses 
from  the  leading  florist  of  Albany  and  set  forth  upon 
his  expedition  with  any  formulated  plot  against  the 
little  heiress  who  was  the  company's  ward.  He  re 
called  her  in  fact  as  a  most  unattractive,  gawky  little 
girl,  who  must  have  changed  inconceivably  for  the 
better  if  she  were  to  interest  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  per 
sonally.  But  the  Clark  estate,  under  the  skillful 
method  of  treatment  for  which  he  was  largely  re 
sponsible,  was  growing  all  the  time,  and  thanks  to 
the  probate  judge's  precaution,  Adelle  would  ulti 
mately  reap  rather  more  than  one  half  of  the  earn 
ings  of  the  Clark's  Field  Associates.  Already  her 
expenses,  represented  by  the  liberal  checks  to  Hern- 
don  Hall,  were  a  mere  nothing  in  the  total  of  the 
income  that  went  on  rolling  up  in  conservative  bonds 
and  stocks  that  were  safely  stowed  away  in  the 
vaults  under  the  Washington  Trust  Company.  It 
seemed  only  proper  that  the  sole  representative  of 
so  much  tangible  property  should  be  accorded  every 

119 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

consideration  by  those  legally  constituted  her  serv 
ants  and  guardians.  Single  motives  are  more  rarely 
found  in  life  than  in  art,  and  Mr.  Ashly  Crane's 
motives  this  fine  April  morning  were  quite  typically 
hybrid. 

'  Whatever  incipient  anticipations  of  the  girl  herself 
he  might  have  entertained  during  his  ride  were  im 
mediately  dissipated  as  soon  as  Adelle  entered  the 
drawing-room  from  the  class  whence  she  had  been 
summoned.  She  was  a  little  larger,  perhaps,  than  he 
remembered  her,  but  essentially  the  same  awkward, 
homely  child,  and  she  was  now  wearing  an  ugly 
harness  upon  her  teeth  that  further  disfigured  her. 
Mr.  Ashly  Crane  was  an  observant  man,  and  he 
became  at  once  merely  the  business  man,  solely  in 
tent  upon  performing  his  duty  and  getting  back  to 
Albany  in  time  to  catch  his  train.  He  presented 
his  roses,  which  Adelle  took  from  him  clumsily  and 
allowed  to  lie  across  her  lap,  while  with  legs  spread 
apart  to  sustain  their  burden  she  listened  to  what 
he  had  to  say.  Mr.  Crane  explained  to  her  briefly 
Mr.  Gardiner's  retirement  and  his  own  recent  ele 
vation  to  the  post  of  being  her  nominal  guardian, 
and  then  inquired  if  everything  was  satisfactory  in 
the  school.  When  Adelle  replied,  yes,  she  guessed 
so,  he  observed  that  the  Hall  was  prettily  located 
above  the  river  with  a  good  view  and  that  a  girl  ought 
to  have  a  fine  time  in  such  a  pleasant  country. 

"What  do  you  do  with  yourself  when  you  are  not 
studying?"  he  concluded  in  a  patronizing  tone. 

120 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Oh,"  Adelle  responded  vaguely,  "I  don't  know. 
Nothing  much  —  read  some  and  take  walks." 

The  new  trust  officer  was  enough  of  a  human  be 
ing  to  realize  the  emptiness  of  this  reply,  and  for  a 
few  moments  was  puzzled.  This  was  a  woman's  job, 
rather  than  a  man's,  he  reflected  sagely.  However, 
being  a  man  he  must  do  the  best  he  could  to  win  the 
girl's  confidence,  and  after  all  Herndon  Hall  had 
the  highest  reputation. 

"They  treat  you  right?"  he  inquired  bluntly. 

The  girl  murmured  something  in  assent,  because 
she  could  think  of  nothing  better  to  say.  It  was 
quite  impossible  for  her  to  phrase  the  sense  of  mis 
ery  and  indignity  that  was  nearly  constant  in  her 
mind. 

"The  teachers  are  kind?"  the  trust  officer  pur 
sued. 

"I  guess  so,"  she  said,  with  a  dumb  look  that 
made  him  uncomfortable. 

He  rose  nervously  and  walked  across  the  room. 
As  he  gazed  out  of  the  open  window  at  the  distant 
prospect  across  the  "Noble  River"  (so  described  in 
the  dainty  leaflet  sent  forth  by  the  school)  "  from  the 
ivy-shrouded  old  stone  Hall,"  he  caught  sight  of  a 
party  of  girls  riding  off  on  horseback  for  their  daily 
excursion.  That  gave  him  an  idea. 

"You  ride,  too?"  he  inquired,  turning  again  to 
the  girl. 

"No,  I  have  n't  any  horse,"  she  replied  simply. 
"You  have  to  have  your  own  horse." 

121 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"But  you  can  have  a  horse  if  you  want  to  ride," 
the  trust  officer  hastily  remarked.  "Riding  is  a  very 
good  exercise,  and  I  should  think  it  would  be  fine  in 
this  country." 

Here  was  something  tangible  that  a  man  could  get 
hold  of.  The  girl  looked  pale  and  probably  needed 
healthful  exercise.  If  other  girls  had  their  own 
horses,  she  could  have  one.  It  Was  really  ridiculous 
how  little  she  was  spending  of  her  swelling  income. 
And  he  proceeded  at  once  to  take  up  this  topic  with 
Miss  Thompson,  who  presently  arrived  upon  the 
scene.  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  was  much  more  successful 
in  impressing  the  head  mistress  of  Herndon  Hall 
with  the  importance  of  the  ward  of  the  Washington 
Trust  Company  than  in  probing  the  heart  of  the 
lonely  little  girl.  He  gave  the  elegant  Miss  Thomp 
son  to  understand  clearly  that  Miss  Adelle  Clark 
was  to  have  every  advantage  that  money  could  buy, 
not  merely  music  and  art  as  extras,  but  horses,  - 
he  even  put  it  in  the  plural,  —  a  groom,  and  if  she 
wanted  it  a  private  maid,  which  he  was  told  was  never 
permitted.  Miss  Thompson  quickly  gathered  from 
his  tone  and  his  words  that  Miss  Adelle  Clark's  ex 
pectations  were  such  as  to  insure  her  the  most  care 
ful  consideration  in  every  respect,  and  if  Herndon 
Hall  could  not  provide  her  with  all  the  advantages  to 
which  wealth  was  entitled,  her  guardians  would 
quickly  remove  her  from  the  school.  Miss  Thomp 
son  accompanied  the  trust  officer  to  the  door  out  of 
earshot  of  Adelle  and  assured  him  haughtily  that 

122 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Herndon  Hall  which  sheltered  a  Steigman  of  Phila 
delphia,  a  Dyboy  of  Baltimore,  not  to  mention  a 
Miss  Saltonsby  from  his  own  city,  knew  quite  as 
well  as  he  what  was  fitting  under  the  circumstances. 
However,  they  shook  hands  as  two  persons  from  the 
same  world  and  parted  in  complete  understanding. 
Adelle  had  already  slipped  off  with  her  armful  of 
roses. 


XIII 

FROM  the  moment  when  she  emerged  upon  the  cor 
ridor  that  led  to  the  schoolrooms  with  that  huge 
bunch  of  American  Beauty  roses  in  her  arms,  a  new 
period  of  her  school  life  began.  The  girls,  of  course, 
had  seen  from  their  desks  the  arrival  of  the  motor 
car  and  its  single  occupant,  —  a  Man,  —  and  the 
older  girls  who  had  peeked  into  the  drawing-room 
reported  that  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  was  a  very  smart- 
looking  man,  indeed.  When  a  woman  first  receives 
flowers  from  a  man,  an  event  of  importance  in  her 
existence  has  happened.  Senorita  Diane,  who  was 
an  incorrigible  sentimentalist,  went  into  ecstasies 
over  the  roses  and  at  once  whispered  about  the 
school  that  they  were  the  fruit  of  an  admirer,  not  of 
a  mere  relative.  Miss  Thompson  talked  to  her 
teachers,  especially  to  "Rosy,"  and  it  became 
known  throughout  the  Hall  that  the  ugly  duckling 
was  undoubtedly  Somebody,  and,  she  was  treated 
thereafter  with  more  consideration.  If  the  trust 
company  had  thought  to  take  notice  of  its  ward's 
existence  earlier  in  her  school  career,  Adelle  might 
have  been  saved  a  very  disagreeable  year  of  her 
life. 

In  due  time  there  arrived  a  beautiful  saddle-horse 
and  a  groom,  both  selected  with  judgment  by  Mr. 

124 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Ashly  Crane  and  charged  to  the  ward's  account. 
The  appearance  of  the  blooded  mount  did  more  than 
anything  else  to  acquaint  Adelle  with  the  meaning 
and  the  power  of  money.  In  many  subtle  ways  she 
began  to  feel  a  change  in  the  attitude  of  her  world 
towards  her,  and  naturally  related  it  immediately 
to  the  possession  of  this  unknown  power.  A  danger 
ous  weapon  had  thus  been  suddenly  placed  in  her 
hands.  She  could  command  respect,  attention,  even 
consideration,  thanks  to  this  weapon  —  money. 
It  was  merely  human  that  as  the  years  went  on  the 
silent  child,  who  had  absorbed  many  unhappy  im 
pressions  of  life  before  discovering  this  key  to  the 
world,  should  become  rapidly  cynical  in  her  use  of 
her  one  great  weapon  of  offense  and  defense.  The 
next  few  years  of  her  life  was  the  period  when  she 
exercised  herself  in  the  use  of  this  weapon,  although 
she  did  not  become  really  proficient  in  its  control 
until  much  later. 

A  suitable  habit  was  quickly  provided,  and  she  set 
forth  each  pleasant  day  with  that  little  group  of 
older  girls  who  enjoyed  this  privilege,  accompanied 
always  by  her  own  groom,  who  was  a  well- trained 
servant  and  effaced  himself  as  nearly  as  possible. 
The  California  girls  rode,  and  that  Miss  Dyboy  of 
Baltimore,  but  the  little  Mexican,  though  she  had 
ridden  all  her  life,  had  no  horse,  and  as  long  as  af 
fairs  continued  unsettled  in  Morelos  was  not  likely 
to  have  one.  When  Adelle  discovered  this  fact,  she 
did  not  play  the  part  of  the  unselfish  heroine,  I  am 

125 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

sorry  to  say,  and  allow  Diane  to  use  her  horse  even 
on  those  days  when  she  did  not  care  to  ride  (as  of 
course  she  would  do  in  a  well-conducted  story).  In 
stead  she  merely  wrote  a  little  letter  to  Mr.  Crane 
at  the  Washington  Trust  Company,  telling  him 
rather  peremptorily  to  send  her  another  horse. 
Somewhat  to  her  surprise  the  second  horse  arrived 
in  due  season,  and  now  she  lent  the  beast  to  her  little 
friend,  carefully  refraining  from  giving  up  her  title 
to  him.  For  a  second  time  she  felt  the  sweet  sense 
of  unlimited  power  in  response  to  desire.  She  wrote 
her  letter  as  Aladdin  rubbed  his  magic  lamp,  and 
straightway  her  desire  became  fact !  It  was  modern 
magic.  This  time  it  happened  that  her  desire  was 
a  generous  one  and  brought  her  the  approval  as  well 
as  the  envy  of  the  small  social  world  at  the  Hall. 
But  that  was  purely  accidental:  the  next  time  she 
should  try  her  lamp,  as  likely  as  not  the  cause  might 
be  purely  selfish.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  soon  dis 
covered  that,  by  distributing  her  favors  and  lending 
her  extra  horse  to  a  number  of  schoolmates,  she 
could  enlarge  her  circle  of  influence  and  considera 
tion.  So  the  little  Mexican  by  no  means  had  all  the 
rides. 

Horseback  riding  was  a  beneficial  pleasure  in  more 
than  one  way.  Adelle,  of  course,  profited  from  the 
exercise  in  the  open  air:  she  began  to  grow  slowly 
and  to  promise  womanhood  at  some  not  distant  day. 
It  also  brought  her  into  close  relations  with  some  of 
the  leading  girls,  who  had  thus  far  ignored  her  ex- 

126 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

istence;  among  them  the  breezy  California  sisters, 
' '  the  two  Pols, ' f  as  they  were  known  in  school.  These 
girls  profited  by  Adelle's  groom  to  dispense  with  the 
chaperonage  of  the  old  riding-master,  and  before 
long  Adelle  learned  why  this  arrangement  was 
made.  In  their  long  expeditions  across  country, 
with  the  discreet  groom  well  in  the  rear,  the  girls 
put  their  heads  together  in  the  most  intimate  gossip, 
from  which  Adelle  learned  much  that  completed  her 
knowledge  of  life.  Most  of  this  was  innocent  enough, 
though  some  was  not,  as  when  one  afternoon,  when 
"the  Pols"  judged  that  Adelle  was  a  "good  sport," 
they  led  the  way  to  a  remote  road-house  where  a 
couple  of  men  were  waiting  evidently  by  appoint 
ment.  One  of  them,  a  fair-haired,  overdressed  young 
man,  Adelle  was  given  to  understand  was  Sadie  Pol's 
"artist "  friend.  She  herself  was  sent  back  to  enter 
tain  the  groom  while  the  two  sisters  went  into  the 
road-house  with  their  "friends."  Conduct,  even  con 
duct  that  came  near  being  vice,  was  largely  meaning 
less  to  Adelle:  she  silently  observed.  She  had  no  evil 
impulses  herself,  very  few  impulses,  in  fact,  of  any 
kind.  But  she  was  the  last  person  to  tell  tales,  and 
"the  two  Pols,"  having  tested  her  and  pronounced 
her  "safe,"  she  was  allowed  to  see  more  and  went 
more  than  once  to  the  rendezvous  at  the  quiet  road- 
house.  In  this  way  she  raised  herself  nearly  to  a 
plane  of  equality  with  the  leaders  of  the  school.  In 
deed,  it  was  Adelle  who  assisted  Irene  Paul  to  escape 
from  the  Hall  one  winter  night,  and  stayed  awake 

127 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

far  into  the  morning  in  order  to  let  the  girl  in.  But 
that  was  a  year  later.  .  .  . 

When  Adelle  discovered  the  power  of  her  magic 
lamp,  she  was  generous  with  her  pocket-money,  or 
dering  and  buying  whatever  the  older  girls  desired. 
In  this  way  she  rapidly  attained  favor  in  the  Hall, 
where  few  even  of  the  richer  girls  could  procure 
money  so  easily  as  the  ward  of  the  Washington 
Trust  Company.  "Get  Adelle  to  do  it,"  or  "Adelle 
will  dig  up  the  money,"  "Ask  Adelle  to  write  her 
bank,"  became  familiar  expressions,  and  Adelle 
never  failed  to  "make  good."  It  is  safe  to  say  that 
if  contact  with  any  sort  of  human  experience  gives 
education,  Adelle  was  being  educated  rapidly,  al 
though  she  was  completely  ignorant  of  books  and 
as  nearly  illiterate  as  a  carefully  protected  rich  girl 
can  be.  Before  Nature  had  completed  within  her 
its  mission,  Adelle  was  cognizant  of  many  kinds  of 
knowledge,  some  of  which  included  depravity.  For 
in  the  exclusive,  protected,  rich  world  of  Herndon 
Hall  she  had  met  everything  she  might  have  en 
countered  in  the  Alton  Girls'  High  and  a  good  deal 
more  beside. 

By  the  end  of  this  second  year  she  was  not  much 
happier,  perhaps,  but  she  was  perfectly  comfortable 
at  the  Hall  and  thoroughly  used  to  her  new  environ 
ment.  The  blonde  Irene  had  given  her  a  diploma,  — 

"  Dell 's  all  right  —  she  fs  a  good  little  kid." 


XIV 

THAT  summer  she  did  not  have  to  mope  by  herself 
in  the  empty  Hall.  The  little  Mexican  carried  her 
away  for  a  long  visit  to  her  distant  home.  The  trou 
ble  in  Morelos  had  temporarily  subsided,  so  that 
Sefior  Merelda  felt  that  it  was  safe  to  gather  his 
large  family  at  the  hagienda.  The  journey,  which 
the  two  girls  made  alone  as  far  as  St.  Louis,  where 
Diane's  elder  brother  met  them,  was  the  first  view 
of  the  large  world  that  Adelle  had  ever  had.  They 
were  both  filled  with  the  excitements  of  their  jour 
ney  so  that  even  Adelle's  pale  cheeks  glowed  with 
a  happy  sense  of  the  mystery  of  living.  This  ec 
stasy  was  somewhat  broken  by  the  presence  of 
Carlos,  a  gentlemanly  enough  young  man ;  but  Ad 
elle  was  afraid  of  all  men.  She  failed  also  to  assim 
ilate  the  strange  sights  that  she  encountered  south 
of  St.  Louis.  The  journey  became  a  jumble  in  her 
memory  of  heat  and  red  sunsets  and  dirty  Indians 
and  stuffy  dining-cars.  But  Morelos  itself  made  a 
more  lasting  impression  upon  her  little  mind.  There 
was,  first  of  all,  the  strange  landscape,  dominated 
by  the  snowy  peak  of  Popocatepetl,  the  sugar-fields, 
and  the  drowsy  languor  of  the  little  town,  and  then 
there  was  the  family  life  of  the  Mereldas  at  the  ha- 
cjenda.  That  was  both  delightful  and  queer  to  Ad- 

129 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

elle.  Instead  of  one  "queer"  person  to  whom  she 
had  become  accustomed,  there  were  half  a  dozen 
odd  human  beings  in  the  persons  of  Senor  and  Se- 
nora  Merelda  and  the  older  boys  and  girls.  They  all 
spoke  all  the  time  as  did  Diane,  about  everything 
and  nothing.  They  seemed  to  care  warmly  for  one 
another,  yet  quarreled  like  children  over  nothings. 
Young  Carlos,  who  was  at  a  technical  school,  made 
violent  love  to  Adelle.  It  was  the  first  time  that  a 
boy  had  looked  at  her  twice  even  under  compulsion, 
and  it  bewildered  and  troubled  Adelle  until  she 
perceived  that  it  was  all  a  joke,  a  "queer"  way  of 
expressing  courtesy  to  a  stranger. 

"It  would  not  be  polite,"  Diane  explained  de 
murely,  "if  Carlos  did  not  make  the  bear  to  my 
friend." 

So  Adelle  got  over  her  fright  when  the  youth  ut 
tered  strange  speeches  and  tried  to  take  her  hand. 
She  even  felt  a  faint  pleasure  in  thus  becoming  of  a 
new  importance. 

"Of  course,"  Diane  remarked  sagely,  "Carlos 
cannot  marry  yet  —  he  is  still  in  school.  But  he  will 
marry  soon  —  why  not  you  ?  .  .  .  You  are  so  very 
rich.  I  should  like  Carlos  to  marry  a  rich  girl  and 
my  friend,  too  ..."  And  with  a  little  sigh,  —  "It 
must  be  pleasant  to  be  so  rich  as  you ! "  From  which 
it  will  be  seen  that  the  little  Mexican  had  also  be 
come  somewhat  corrupted  by  her  year  at  Herndon 
Hall. 

Adelle  had  not  yet  found  out  fully  how  nice  it 

130 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

was  to  be  rich,  but  she  was  learning  fast.  To  be  able 
to  attract  the  attentions  of  agreeable  young  men 
like  Carlos  Merelda  was  another  of  the  virtues  of  her 
magic  lamp  that  she  had  never  thought  of  before. 
Although  she  had  no  idea  of  taking  Carlos's  courtship 
seriously,  she  thought  all  the  better  of  herself  for  this 
extra  magnetism  which  her  money  gave  her  person. 
The  kindliness  of  the  Mereldas  and  their  Mexican 
circle  to  the  little  American  was  due  largely  to  her 
being  a  good  friend  of  their  Diane  and  also  their 
guest,  but  it  made  Adelle  grow  in  her  own  estima 
tion.  At  present  life  seemed  to  consist  in  a  gradual 
unfolding  to  her  of  the  meaning  of  her  new  power, 
and  a  consequent  enlargement  of  her  egotism.  That 
is  unfortunately  one  of  the  commonest  properties  of 
wealth,  — stimulating  egotism,  — and  it  takes  much 
experience  or  an  extraordinary  nature  to  counteract 
this  unhealthy  stimulus.  For  the  ordinary  nature  it 
is  impossible  to  live  day  after  day,  year  in  and  year 
out,  under  the  powerful  external  stimulus  of  riches, 
without  confounding  the  outer  source  of  power  with^ 
an  innate  virtue. 

But  with  our  Adelle,  by  the  time  her  visit  had 
come  to  an  end,  her  new  education  had  got  merely  to 
the  point  where  she  had  the  self-interest  and  assur 
ance  of  the  ordinary  American  girl  of  twelve.  That 
Church  Street  experience  had  chastened  her.  But 
if  her  education  was  to  continue  at  the  present  rate, 
she  was  likely  to  become  selfish,  egotistical,  and 
purse-proud  in  a  few  years.  As  yet  it  had  not  made 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

her  unpleasant,  merely  given  her  a  little  needed 
confidence  in  her  own  being. 

She  chose  to  make  the  long  journey  homewards 
by  water  from  Vera  Cruz  to  New  York  in  charge  of 
the  captain  of  the  vessel.  For  Sefior  Merelda,  after 
the  harassing  activities  of  political  warfare  and 
its  pecuniary  drains,  did  not  feel  able  to  send  his 
daughter  back  to  Herndon  Hall.  So  the  two  friends 
kissed  and  parted  at  Vera  Cruz,  Diane  shedding  all 
the  tears.  They  expected  to  meet  again  before  long, 
and  of  course  agreed  to  write  frequently.  But  life 
never  again  brought  Adelle  in  contact  with  the 
warm-hearted  little  Latin,  who  had  first  held  out  to 
her  the  olive  branch  of  human  sympathy. 

Adelle  was  met  at  the  dock  by  "Rosy,"  who  had 
with  her  "  the  two  Pols"  and  Eveline  Glynn  at  whose 
country  home  they  were  staying.  "Rosy,"  as  well 
as  her  schoolmates,  was  agreeably  surprised  by 
Adelle's  appearance  after  her  summer  in  Mexico. 
Nature  was  tardily  asserting  herself;  Adelle  was 
becoming  a  woman, — a  small,  delicate,  pale  little 
creature,  whose  rounding  bust  under  her  white  dress 
gave  her  the  dainty  atmosphere  of  an  early  spring 
flower,  fragile  and  frigid,  but  full  of  charm  for  some 
connoisseurs  of  human  beauty.  She  had  also  ac 
quired  in  Mexico  a  note  of  her  own,  which  was  per 
haps  due  to  the  clothes  she  had  bought  in  Mexico 
City  on  her  way  home,  of  filmy  fabric  and  promi 
nent  colors ;  and  her  usually  taciturn  speech  had  taken 
on  a  languorous  slowness  in  imitation  of  the  Merel- 

132 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

das'  way  of  speaking  English.  In  the  drawling  man 
ner  in  which  she  said,  —  "Hello,  Rosy,"  and  non 
chalantly  accepted  Miss  Glynn's  invitation  for  the 
intervening  days  before  school  opened,  the  new 
Adelle  was  revealed.  The  girls  exchanged  glances. 
And  "Rosy"  whispered  Irene  Paul, —  "Our  little 
Adelle  is  coming  on."  To  which  the  California  girl 
replied  with  a  chuckle,  —  "Did  n't  I  tell  you  she 
was  a  good  old  sport?" 

Adelle,  overhearing  this,  felt  an  almost  vivid  sense 
of  pride. 

But  as  yet  hers  was  only  a  very  little  air,  which 
was  quickly  wilted  by  the  oppressive  luxury  of  the 
Glynns'  country-place  —  one  of  those  large,  ostenta 
tious  establishments  that  Americans  are  wont  to 
start  before  they  know  how,  and  where  consequently 
the  elaborate  domestic  machinery  creaks.  There 
were  men-servants  of  different  nationalities,  ladies' 
maids,  and  a  houseful  of  guests  coming  and  going 
as  in  a  private  hotel.  Adelle  shrank  into  the  obscur 
est  corner  and  her  anemonelike  charm,  tentatively 
putting  forth,  was  quite  lost  in  the  scramble.  Beech- 
wood  was  a  much  less  genial  home  than  the  slipshod 
Mexican  hagienda  of  the  Mereldas  and  nobody  paid 
any  attention  to  the  shy  girl.  Eveline  Glynn,  who 
expected  in  another  year  to  be  free  from  school,  was 
too  much  occupied  with  her  own  flirtations  to  bother 
herself  about  her  chance  guest.  Adelle,  being  left 
to  her  usual  occupation  of  silent  observation,  man 
aged  to  absorb  a  good  deal  at  Beechwood  in  four 

133 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

days,  chiefly  of  the  machinery  of  modern  wealth. 
There  were  the  elaborate  meals,  the  drinking,  the 
card-playing,  the  motors,  the  innumerable  servants, 
and  the  sickening  atmosphere  of  inane  sentimental- 
ism  between  the  sexes.  Everybody  seemed  to  be 
having  "an  affair,"  and  the  talk  was  redolent  of  in 
nuendo.  Adelle  had  occasion  to  observe  the  potency 
of  her  lamp  in  this  society.  She  worked  it  first  upon 
the  waiting-woman  assigned  to  her,  to  whom  she 
gave  a  large  fee  and  who  coached  her  devotedly  in 
the  ways  of  the  house  and  supplied  her  with  the  gos 
sip.  It  also  brought  her  the  annoying  attentions 
of  a  middle-aged  man,  to  whom  her  hostess  had 
confided  that  the  dumb  little  Clark  girl  was  "awful 
rich." 

At  the  end  of  the  visit  the  girls  went  back  to  New 
York,  under  the  chaperonage  of  "Rosy,"  to  equip 
themselves  for  the  school  term,  staying  at  a  great 
new  hotel,  and  here  Adelle's  corruption  by  her  wealth 
was  continued  at  an  accelerated  pace.  The  four  girls 
flitted  up  and  down  the  Avenue,  buying  and  order 
ing  what  they  would.  There  were  definite  limits  to 
the  purse  of  the  Californians,  but  Adelle,  perceiv 
ing  the  distinction  to  be  had  from  free  spending, 
ordered  with  a  splendid  indifference  to  price  or 
amount.  She  won  the  admiration  of  her  friends  by 
the  ease  with  which  she  gave  her  name  and  address. 
Adelle  was  in  fact  a  little  frightened  by  her  own  ex 
travagance,  but  persisted  with  a  child's  curiosity  to 
find  out  the  limit  of  her  magic  lamp.  She  did  not 

134 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

reach  it,  however.  Mr.  Crane  at  her  request  had 
opened  an  account  for  her  at  the  trust  company's 
correspondent  on  upper  Fifth  Avenue,  and  appa 
rently  it  was  of  a  size  that  produced  respect  in  the 
heart  of  the  shopkeeper. 

All  these  purchases,  the  clothes  and  the  jewelry 
and  the  other  rubbish  that  the  girl  bought,  gave  her 
no  special  pleasure,  gratified  no  desires:  she  did  not 
know  what  she  could  do  with  half  the  things  at 
Herndon  Hall.  What  gave  her  keen  pleasure  was  the 
prestige  of  lavish  spending.  .  .  .  After  a  debauch 
of  theaters  and  dinners  and  shopping,  the  four  girls 
were  again  taken  in  tow  by  the  sophisticated  "  Rosy  " 
and  went  up  the  river  to  Herndon  Hall  for  Adelle's 
third  year  of  boarding-school. 


XV 


ADELLE  CLARK  was  thoroughly  infected  with  the 
corruption  of  property  by  this  time,  and  the  coming 
years  merely  confirmed  the  ideas  and  the  habits  that 
had  been  started.  She  was  now  seventeen  and  an 
"old  girl"  at  the  Hall,  privileged  to  torture  less 
sophisticated  girls  when  they  presented  themselves, 
if  she  had  felt  the  desire  to  do  so.  She  had  not  for 
gotten  her  Church  Street  existence :  it  had  been  much 
*too  definite  to  be  easily  forgotten.  But  she  had  been 
removed  from  it  long  enough  to  realize  herself  thor 
oughly  in  her  new  life  and  to  know  that  it  was 
not  a  dream.  She  would  always  remember  Church 
Street,  her  aunt  and  uncle,  and  the  laborious  years 
of  poverty  with  which  it  was  identified ;  but  grad 
ually  that  part  of  her  life  was  becoming  the  dream, 
while  Herndon  Hall  and  the  Aladdin  lamp  of  her 
fortune  were  the  reality.  By  means  of  the  latter 
she  had  won  her  position  among  her  mates,  and  nat 
urally  she  respected  more  and  more  the  source  of 
her  power.  Eveline  Glynn  "took  her  up "  this  year, 
and  quite  replaced  the  gentler  Diane  Merelda  in  her 
affections. 

There  was  if  anything  less  study  this  year  than 
before.  The  older  girls  scouted  the  idea  of  studying 
anything.  Most  of  them  expected  to  leave  school 

136 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

forever  the  next  spring  and  under  the  auspices  of 
their  mothers  to  enter  the  marriage  game.  A  few 
intended  as  a  preliminary  to  travel  in  Europe, ' '  study 
ing  art  or  music."  But  the  minds  of  all  were  much 
more  occupied  with  love  than  anything  else.  Al 
though  the  sex  interest  was  still  entirely  dormant  in 
Adelle,  she  learned  a  great  deal  about  it  from  her  f 
schoolmates.  Those  good  people  who  believe  in  a 
censorship  of  literature  for  the  sake  of  protecting 
the  innocent  American  girl  should  become  enrolled 
at  Herndon  Hall.  There  they  might  be  occasionally 
horrified,  but  they  would  come  out  wiser  mortals. 
Adelle  knew  all  about  incredible  scandals.  Divorce, 
with  the  reasons  for  it,  —  especially  the  statutory 
one,  —  was  freely  discussed,  and  a  certain  base,  pan 
dering  sheet  of  fashionable  gossip  was  taken  in  at  the 
Hall  and  eagerly  devoured  each  week  by  the  girls, 
who  tried  to  guess  at  the  thinly  disguised  persons 
therein  pilloried.  ThusAdellebecamefully  acquainted 
with  the  facts  of  sex  in  their  abnormal  as  well  as  more 
normal  aspects.  That  she  got  no  special  personal 
harm  from  this  irregular  education  and  from  the 
example  of  "the  two  Pols"  was  due  solely  to  her  \ 
own  unawakened  temperament.  Life  had  no  gloss 
for  her,  and  it  had  no  poetic  appeal.  She  supposed, 
when  she  considered  the  matter  at  all,  that  sometime 
as  a  woman  she  would  be  submitted  to  the  coil  of 
passion  and  sex,  like  all  the  others  about  whom  her 
friends  talked  incessantly.  They  seemed  to  regard 
every  man  as  a  possible  source  of  excitement  to  a 

137 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

woman.  But  she  resolved  for  her  part  to  put  off  the 
interference  of  this  fateful  influence  as  long  as  pos 
sible.  Sometime,  of  course,  she  must  marry  and 
have  a  child,  —  that  was  part  of  the  fate  of  a  girl 
with  money  of  her  own,  —  and  then  she  should  hope 
to  marry  a  nice  man  who  would  not  scold  or  ill-treat 
her  or  prefer  some  other  woman  —  that  was  all. 

11  Dell  is  just  a  lump  of  ice! "  Irene  Paul  often  said, 
putting  her  own  plump  arms  about  Adelle's  thin 
little  body;  and  while  Adelle  tried  to  wriggle  out  of 
the  embrace  she  teased  her  by  assuming  the  man's 
aggressive  role. 

Thus  the  last  months  of  her  formal  education 
slipped  by.  Adelle  went  through  the  easy  routine 
of  the  Hall  like  the  other  girls,  riding  horseback  a 
good  deal  during  pleasant  weather,  taking  a  lively 
interest  in  dancing,  upon  which  great  stress  was 
laid  by  Miss  Thompson  as  an  accomplishment  and 
healthy  exercise.  She  took  a  mild  share  in  the  es 
capades  of  her  more  lively  friends,  but  for  the  most 
part  her  life  was  dull,  though  she  did  not  feel  it. 
,The  life  of  the  rich,  instead  of  being  varied  and  full 
of  deep  experience,  is  actually  in  most  cases  exceed 
ingly  monotonous  and  narrowing.  The  common  be 
lief  that  wealth  is  an  open  sesame  to  a  life  of  uni 
versal  human  experience  is  a  stupid  delusion,  fre 
quently  used  as  a  gloss  to  their  souls  by  well-inten 
tioned  people.  Apart  from  the  strict  classjimitations 
imposed  by  the  possession  of  large  property,  the  ob- 

138 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

ject  of  protected  and  luxurious  people  is  generally 
merely  pleasure.  And  pleasure  is  one  of  the  narrow 
est  fields  of  human  experience  conceivable,  becoming 
quickly  monotonous,  which  accounts  for  many  ex 
travagancies  and  abnormalities  among  the  rich. 
Moreover,  the  sensual  life  of  the  well-fed  and  idle 
deadens  imagination  to  such  a  degree  that  even 
their  pleasures  are  imitative,  not  original:  they  do 
what  their  kind  have  found  to  be  pleasurable  with 
out  the  incentive  of  initiative.  If  Adelle  Clark  had 
not  been  attached  to  Clark's  Field  and  had  been 
forced  to  remain  in  the  Church  Street  rooming-house, 
by  this  time  she  would  have  been  at  work  as  a  clerk 
or  in  some  other  business :  in  any  case  she  must  have  / 
touched  realities  closely  and  thus  been  immeasur 
ably  ahead  of  all  the  Herndon  Hall  girls. 

Probably  this  doctrine  would  shock  not  only  the 
managers  of  Herndon  Hall,  but  also  the  officers  of 
the  trust  company,  who  felt  that  they  were  giving 
their  ward  the  best  preparation  for  "  a  full  life,"  such 
as  the  possession  of  a  large  property  entitles  mortals 
to  expect.  And  though  it  may  seem  that  the  Wash 
ington  Trust  Company  had  been  somewhat  perfunc 
tory  in  its  care  of  its  young  ward,  merely  accepting 
the  routine  ideas  of  the  day  in  regard  to  her  edu 
cation  and  preparation  for  life,  they  did  nothing 
more  nor  worse  in  this  than  the  majority  of  well-to- 
do  parents  who  may  be  supposed  to  have  every  in 
centive  of  love  and  family  pride  in  dealing  with  their 
young.  The  trust  company  in  fact  was  merely  an 

139 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

impersonal  and  legal  means  of  fulfilling  the  ideals  of 
the  average  member  of  our  society.  Indeed,  the  trust 
company,  in  the  person  of  its  president  and  also  of 
Mr.  Ashly  Crane,  were  just  now  giving  some  of  their 
valuable  time  to  consideration  of  the  personal  fate 
of  their  ward.  She  had  been  the  subject  of  at  least 
one  conference  between  these  officers.  She  was  now 
on  her  way  towards  eighteen,  and  that  was  the  age, 
as  President  West  well  knew,  when  properly  con 
ditioned  young  women  usually  left  school,  unless 
they  were  "queer"  enough  to  seek  college,  and  en 
tered  "society"  for  the  unavowed  but  perfectly 
understood  object  of  getting  husbands  for  themselves. 
The  trust  company  was  puzzled  as  to  how  best  to 
provide  this  necessary  function  for  its  ward.  They 
felt  that  there  existed  no  suitable  machinery  for 
taking  this  next  step.  They  could  order  her  clothes, 
or  rather  hire  some  one  to  buy  them  for  her,  order 
her  a  suitable  "education"  and  pay  for  it,  but  they 
could  not  "introduce  her  to  society"  nor  provide 
her  with  a  good  husband.  And  that  was  the  situa 
tion  which  now  confronted  them. 

They  had  received  excellent  reports  of  their 
ward  latterly  from  Herndon  Hall.  Although  Miss 
Thompson  admitted  that  Miss  Clark  was  not  "intel 
lectually  brilliant,"  she  had  a  "good  mind,  "what 
ever  that  might  mean,  and  had  developed  wonder 
fully  at  the  Hall  in  bearing,  deportment,  manner — 
in  all  the  essential  matters  of  woman's  education. 
Miss  Thompson  meant  that  Adelle  spoke  fairly  cor- 

140 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

rect  English,  drawled  her  A's,  wore  her  clothes  as  if 
she  owned  them,  had  sufficiently  good  table-manners 
to  dine  in  public,  and  could  hold  her  own  in  the  con 
versation  of  girls  of  her  kind.  Miss  Thompson  rec 
ommended  warmly  that  Adelle  join  Miss  Stevens's 
"Travel  Class,"  which  was  going  abroad  in  June  to 
tour  the  Continent  and  study  the  masterpieces  of 
art  upon  the  spot.  The  suggestion  came  as  a  relief 
to  the  trust  company's  officers:  it  put  over  their 
problem  with  Adelle  for  another  year.  But  before 
accepting  Miss  Thompson's  advice,  Mr.  Ashly  Crane 
thought  it  wise  to  make  another  visit  to  Herndon 
Hall  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  Adelle  herself. 
He  believed  always  in  the  "personal  touch  "  method. 
And  so  once  more  he  broke  a  journey  westwards  at 
Albany  and  rolled  up  the  long  drive  in  a  motor 
car. 

Adelle  enjoyed  the  impression  which  she  was  able 
to  make  upon  the  young  banker  this  time.  She  had 
seen  his  approach  in  the  car  on  her  return  from  her 
ride,  and  had  kept  him  waiting  half  an  hour  while 
she  took  a  bath  and  dressed  herself  with  elaborate 
care  as  she  had  often  seen  other  girls  do.  Her  teeth 
had  at  last  been  released  from  their  harness  and  were 
nice  little  regular  teeth.  Her  dull  brown  hair,  thanks 
to  constant  skillful  attention,  had  lately  come  to  a 
healthy  gloss.  Her  complexion  was  clear  though  pale, 
and  her  dress  was  a  dream  of  revealing  simplicity. 
Mr.  Ashly  Crane  took  in  all  these  details  at  a  glance, 

141 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  felt  a  glow  of  satisfaction  beyond  the  purely 
male  sense  of  appreciation :  the  trust  company  which 
he  represented  had  done  its  duty  by  the  little  orphan, 
and  what  is  more  had  got  what  it  paid  for.  Their 
ward,  as  she  stood  before  him  with  a  faint  smile  on 
her  thin  lips,  was  a  creditable  creation  of  modern  art. 
A  thoroughly  unpromising  specimen  of  female  clay 
had  been  moulded  into  something  agreeable  and  al 
most  pretty,  with  a  faint,  anemonelike  bloom  and 
fragrance.  Mr.  Ashly  Crane,  who  was  rather  given 
to  generalization  about  the  might  and  majesty  of 
American  achievements,  felt  that  the  girl  was  a 
triumphant  example  of  modern  power,  —  "what  we 
do  when  we  try  to  do  something,"  —  like  convert 
ing  the  waste  land  of  Clark's  Field  into  a  city  of 
brick  and  mortar,  or  making  a  hydrangea  out  of  a 
field  shrub. 

"Well,  Miss  Clark,"  he  began  as  the  two  seated 
themselves  where  they  had  sat  the  year  before,  "I 
need  n't  ask  you  how  you  are  —  your  looks  answer 
the  question." 

It  was  a  banal  remark,  but  Adelle  recognized  it 
for  a  compliment  and  smiled  prettily.  She  said 
nothing.  Silence  was  still  the  principal  method  of 
her  social  tactics. 

"You  are  getting  to  be  a  young  woman  fast/'  the 
banker  continued  quite  bluntly. 

Adelle  looked  down  and  possibly  blushed. 

"Mr.  West  and  I  have  been  considering  what  to 
do"  —  he  caught  himself  and  tried  again;  —  "that 

142 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

is  we  have  been  in  consultation  with  Miss  Thomp 
son  about  —  your  future." 

Here  Adelle  looked  the  trust  officer  fully  in  the 
eye.  On  this  point  she  seemed  really  interested  this 
time.  So  Mr.  Crane  proceeded  more  easily  to  ques 
tion  her  about  the  plan  of  joining  Miss  Stevens's 
" Travel  Class."  Adelle  listened  blankly  while  Mr. 
Crane  wandered  off  into  generalities  about  the  ad 
vantages  of  travel  and  the  study  of  "art"  under  the 
guidance  of  a  mature  woman.  Suddenly  she  said 
quite  positively,  — 

"I  don't  want  to  go  with  the  'Travel  Class/" 

This  was  the  first  positive  expression  of  any  sort 
that  the  trust  officer  had  ever  heard  from  the  ward. 
It  was  one  of  the  very  few  that  Adelle  Clark  had  ever 
made  in  the  eighteen  years  of  her  existence.  Under 
Mr.  Crane's  inquiries  it  soon  developed  that  Adelle 
did  not  like  "Rosy"  Stevens,  —  as  nearly  hated  her 
as  she  was  capable  of  hating  any  one,  —  nor  had  she 
any  great  fondness  for  the  girls  who  were  to  compose 
this  year's  "Travel  Class."  They  belonged  to  the 
snobbiest  element  in  the  school.  .  .  .  What,  then,  did 
she  wish  to  do  with  herself  —  remain  another  year 
at  Herndon  Hall?  Here  again  the  ward  amazed  Mr. 
Crane,  for  she  had  ready  a  definite  plan  of  her  own 
—  a  small  plan  to  be  sure  and  imitative,  but  a  plan. 

She  wished  to  go  with  her  new  friend  Eveline  Glynn 
and  the  California  sisters  to  Paris.  Eveline's  parents, 
it  seemed,  were  spending  the  next  season  in  Europe, 
and  after  the  manner  of  their  kind  they  did  not  pro- 

143 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

pose  to  be  encumbered  with  a  young  daughter.  So 
they  had  arranged  to  send  her  to  Miss  Catherine 
Comstockat  Neuilly,  and  "the  two  Pols"  had  decided 
to  do  the  same  thing.  It  was  not  a  school,  —  oh, 
no,  not  even  a  "finishing  school,"  —  but  the  home 
of  an  accomplished  and  brilliant  American  woman, 
who  had  long  lived  abroad  and  who  undertook  to 
chaperone  in  the  French  capital  a  very  few  desirable 
girls.  The  banker  could  not  see  how  Miss  Comstock's 
establishment  in  Neuilly  differed  essentially  from  the 
"  Travel  Class,"  except  that  it  was  more  permanent, 
which  shows  how  socially  blunt  Mr.  Crane  was.  But 
after  an  interview  with  Miss  Thompson  he  satisfied 
himself  that  the  Glynns  were  ' '  our  very  best  people ' ' ; 
anything  they  thought  right  for  their  daughter  must 
be  fit  for  the  Washington  Trust  Company's  ward. 
So  her  guardian's  assent  to  the  plan  was  easily  ob 
tained,  and  the  four  friends  rejoiced  in  their  coming 
freedom.  .  .  . 

Adelle  had  no  clear  idea  why  she  preferred  Neuilly 
to  the  "Travel  Class,"  except  to  be  with  Eveline 
Glynn  and  the  two  Paul  girls.  Paris  and  Rome  were 
hazily  mixed  geographically  in  her  ill-furnished  mind, 
and  culturally  both  were  blank.  Eveline  had  known 
girls  who  had  stayed  with  Miss  Comstock  and  they 
had  given  glowing  accounts  of  their  experiences. 
The  Neuilly  establishment,  it  appeared,  was  a  place 
of  perfect  freedom,  where  the  girls  were  chaperoned 
sufficiently  to  keep  them  out  of  serious  mischief, 
but  otherwise  were  allowed  to  please  themselves  in 

144 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

their  own  way.  And  there  was  Paris,  which,  accord 
ing  to  Eveline,  who  had  informed  herself  from  many 
sources,  was  the  best  place  in  the  world  for  a  good 
time.  Friends  were  always  coming  there,  to  buy 
clothes  and  to  make  excursions.  Adelle  could  have 
her  own  car,  in  which  the  four  would  take  motor 
trips,  and  there  was  the  opera,  etc.  And  lastly  So 
ciety  —  real  Society ;  —  for  it  seemed  that  this  was 
one  of  Miss  Comstock's  strong  points.  She  knew 
people,  and  had  actually  put  a  number  of  her  girls 
in  the  way  of  marrying  titled  foreigners.  The  Cali 
fornia  girls  knew  of  a  compatriot  who  had  thus  ac 
quired  a  Polish  title.  In  short,  there  was  nothing  of 
the  boarding-school  in  Miss  Comstock's  establish 
ment,  except  the  fees,  which  were  enormous  —  five 
thousand  dollars  to  start  with. 

Thus  Adelle  left  Herndon  Hall  in  the  beautiful 
month  of  June,  having  received  her  last  communion 
in  the  little  ivy-covered  stone  chapel  from  the  hands 
of  the  bishop  himself,  smiled  upon  by  Miss  Thomp 
son  and  the  other  teachers,  who  had  three  years 
before  pronounced  her  "a  perfect  little  fright,"  and 
kissed  by  a  few  of  her  schoolmates.  She  felt  that  she 
was  coming  into  her  own,  thanks  to  her  magic  lamp 
—  that  life  ahead  looked  promising.  Yet  she  had 
changed  as  little  fundamentally  during  these  three 
years  as  a  human  being  well  could.  She  had  passed 
from  the  narrowest  poverty  of  the  Alton  side  street 
to  the  prodigal  ease  of  Herndon  Hall,  from  the  en- 

145 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

vironment  of  an  inferior  "  rooming-house "  to  com 
panionship  with  the  rich  daughters  of  "our  very 
best  people,'* — from  an  unformed  child  to  the  full 
physical  estate  of  womanhood,  —  all  within  three 
short  years;  but  she  had  accommodated  herself  to 
these  great  transitions  with  as  little  inward  change 
as  possible.  Her  soul  was  the  soul  of  the  Clarks, 
tricked  out  with  good  clothes  and  the  manners  and 
habits  of  the  rich.  Addie,  it  seemed,  had  at  last  ar 
rived  at  her  paradise  in  the  person  of  her  daughter, 
but  it  was  a  pale  and  inexpressive  Addie,  who 
made  no  large  drafts  upon  paradise. 

Adelle  departed  in  the  Glynn  motor  for  the  Glynn 
country-place,  where  she  was  to  stay  until  the  Glynns 
sailed  for  Europe.  She  was  prettily  dressed  in  £cru- 
colored  embroidered  linen,  with  a  broad  straw  hat 
and  suede  gloves  and  boots,  according  to  the  style 
of  the  day,  and  she  was  really  happy  and  almost 
aware  of  it.  Eveline  was  glum  because  her  mother  — 
a  stern-looking  matron  who  knew  exactly  what  she 
wanted  out  of  life  and  how  to  get  it  —  had  refused 
peremptorily  to  let  her  invite  Bobby  Trenow  to 
accompany  them.  Bobby  was  Eveline's  darling  of 
the  hour,  as  Adelle  knew:  Eveline  had  let  him  kiss 
her  for  the  first  time  the  previous  evening,  and  she 
was  "  perfectly  crazy  "  about  him.  To  Adelle,  Bobby 
was  merely  a  smooth,  downy  boy  like  all  the  rest, 
who  showed  bare  brown  arms  and  white  flannels  in 
summer,  and  had  as  little  to  say  for  himsef  as  she 
had.  She  was  amused  at  Nelly's  fussed  state  over 

146 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  loss  of  Bobby;  she  could  not  understand  Mother 
Glynn's  objection  to  the  harmless  Bobby's  occupy 
ing  the  vacant  seat  in  the  roomy  car;  —  but  then 
she  did  not  understand  many  things  in  the  intricate 
social  world  in  which  she  found  herself.  She  did  not 
know  that  there  is  no  one  of  their  possessions  that 
the  rich  learn  more  quickly  to  guard  than  their 
women.  The  aristocrats  of  all  ages  have  jealously 
housed  and  protected  their  women  from  entangling 
sexual  relations,  while  permitting  the  greatest  license 
to  their  predatory  males.  The  reasons  are  obvious 
enough  to  the  mature  intelligence,  but  difficult  for 
the  young  to  comprehend. 

Adelle  had  not  yet  felt  the  need  of  a  Bobby 
Trenow. 


XVI 

SOME  years  ago  Prince  Ponitowski  had  built  in 
Neuilly,  near  the  gate  of  the  Bois,  what  contempo 
rary  novelists  described  as  a  "nest"  for  his  mistress 
—  a  famous  Parisian  lady.  It  was  a  fascinating  little 
villa  with  a  demure  brick  and  stone  facade,  a  terrace, 
and  a  few  shady  trees  in  a  tiny,  high-walled  garden. 
The  prince  died,  and  the  lady  having  made  other 
arrangements,  the  smart  little  villa  came  into  the 
hands  of  Miss  Catherine  Comstock,  who  took  a  long 
lease  of  the  premises  and  established  there  her  family 
of  "select"  American  girls.  It  might  seem  that  the 
tradition  of  the  Villa  Ponitowski  (as  the  place  con 
tinued  to  be  called)  was  hardly  suitable  for  her  pur 
poses,  but  the  robust  common  sense  of  our  age  rarely 
hesitates  over  such  intangible  considerations,  and 
least  of  all  the  sophisticated  Miss  Comstock.  At 
the  Villa  Ponitowski  the  young  women  enjoyed  the 
healthful  freedom  of  a  suburb  with  the  open  fields 
of  the  Bois  directly  at  their  door,  and  yet  were 
within  easy  reach  of  Paris,  "with  its  galleries  and 
many  cultural  opportunities"  —  according  to  the 
familiar  phrasing  of  Miss  Comstock's  letters  to  in 
quiring  parents.  (She  had  no  circulars.) 

Miss  Catherine  Comstock  herself  was,  in  the  last 
analysis,  from  Toledo,  Ohio,  of  an  excellent  family 

148 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

that  had  its  roots  in  the  soil  of  Muskingum.  When 
her  father  died,  there  being  no  immediate  prospect 
of  marriage,  she  had  taken  to  teaching  in  a  girls' 
private  school.  It  was  not  long  before  the  routine 
of  an  American  private  school  became  irksome  to  her 
venturous  spirit,  and  she  conceived  the  idea  of  tour 
ing  Europe  with  rich  girls  who  had  nothing  else  to 
do.  From  this  developed  the  Neuilly  scheme,  which 
provided  for  the  needs  of  that  increasing  number  of 
Americans  with  daughters  who  for  one  reason  or 
another  do  not  live  in  America,  and  also  for  those 
American  girls  who  could  afford  to  experiment  in 
the  fine  arts  "carefully  shielded  from  undesirable 
associates"  — another  favorite  Comstock  phrase. 
At  first  the  art  and  education  idea  had  been  much  to 
the  fore,  and  Miss  Comstock  had  fortified  herself 
with  one  or  two  teachers  and  hired  other  assistants 
occasionally.  But  the  life  of  Paris  had  proved  so 
congenial  and  its  "opportunities"  so  abundant  that 
Miss  Comstock  had  come  to  rely  more  and  more 
upon  the  "privilege  of  European  residence"  and 
dispensed  altogether  with  formal  instruction. 

She  soon  found  that  that  was  what  the  girls  who 
came  to  her  really  wanted,  even  if  their  parents  had 
vague  thoughts  of  other  things.  In  short,  the  Neuilly 
school  was  nothing  else  than  a  superior  sort  of  select 
pension  for  eight  or  ten  girls,  with  facilities  for 
travel  and  more  or  less  "society."  Miss  Comstock 
herself  —  affectionately  known  to  "her  girls"  as 
"  Pussy"  Comstock  —  had  been  rather  angular  and 

149 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

plain  in  the  Toledo  days,  but  under  the  congenial  air 
of  Paris  and  good  dressmakers  had  developed  into 
a  smart  specimen  of  the  free-lance,  middle-aged 
woman,  with  the  sophistication  of  a  thorough  ac 
quaintance  with  the  world  and  much  prudence 
garnered  from  a  varied  experience.  She  made  an 
excellent  impression  upon  the  sort  of  parents  she 
dealt  with  as  a  "woman  who  really  knows  life,"  and 
the  girls  always  liked  her,  found  her  "  a  good  chum." 
They  called  her  "  Pussy  " !  Miss  Comstock  kept  with 
her  a  dumpy  little  American  woman  with  glasses, 
who  did  what  educational  work  was  attempted,  and 
the  more  tedious  chaperonage.  The  Villa  Ponitow- 
ski,  in  a  word,  was  one  of  the  modern  adjustments 
between  the  ignorance  and  selfishness  of  parents  and 
the  selfishness  and  folly  of  children.  The  parents 
handed  over  their  daughters  for  a  season  to  Miss 
Comstock  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  believing  that  their 
girls  would  be  perfectly  "safe  "  in  her  care  and  might 
possibly  improve  themselves  in  language  and  knowl 
edge  of  art  and  the  world.  And  the  daughters  re 
joiced,  knowing  from  the  reports  of  other  girls  that 
they  would  have  "  a  perfectly  bully  time,"  freed  from 
the  annoying  prejudices  of  parents,  and  might  pick 
up  an  adventure  or  two  of  a  sentimental  nature.  .  .  . 
Into  this  final  varnishing  bath  our  heroine  was 
plunged  with  her  three  friends,  in  the  autumn  of 
1902,  when  she  was  eighteen  years  old.  The  girls 
arrived  at  the  Villa  from  a  motoring  trip  across  Eu 
rope,  during  which  they  had  scurried  over  the  sur- 

150 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

face  of  five  countries  and  put  up  in  thirty-eight  dif 
ferent  hotels  as  the  labels  on  their  bags  triumphantly 
proclaimed.  Miss  Comstock  received  the  party  in 
her  own  little  salon  in  the  rear  of  the  Villa,  where, 
after  the  elder  Glynns  had  withdrawn,  liqueurs  and 
cigarettes  were  served.  Miss  Comstock  lit  a  cigar 
ette,  perched  her  well-shod  feet  on  a  stool,  and  lis 
tened  with  sympathetic  amusement  to  the  adven 
tures  of  the  trio  as  vivaciously  related  by  Eveline 
Glynn.  The  California  sisters,  it  developed,  had 
the  cigarette  habit,  too,  and  Eveline  tried  one  of 
" Pussy's"  special  kind.  When  the  girls  went  to 
their  rooms,  to  which  they  were  conducted  by  Miss 
Comstock  with  an  arm  around  the  waist  of  Adelle 
and  another  about  Irene  Paul,  the  girls  agreed  that 
"Pussy"  was  "all  right"  and  congratulated  them 
selves  upon  the  perspicacity  of  their  choice. 

At  Herndon  Hall  there  had  been  at  least  the  pre 
tense  of  discipline  and  study,  but  all  such  childish 
notions  were  laughed  at  in  the  Villa  Ponitowski. 
Eveline  Glynn  thought  she  had  a  voice  and  a  teacher 
was  engaged  for  her.  Irene  Paul  devoted  herself  to 
the  art  of  whistling,  while  her  sister  "went  in  for 
posters."  Another  girl  was  supposed  to  be  studying 
painting  and  resorted  a  few  afternoons  each  week  to 
a  studio,  well  chaperoned.  Miss  Comstock  promised 
to  find  something  for  Adelle  to  do  in  an  art  way. 
But  there  was  nothing  pedantic  or  professional  about 
the  Villa  Ponitowski.  Miss  Comstock  prided  herself 
upon  her  outlook.  She  knew  that  her  girls  would 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

marry  in  all  likelihood,  and  she  endeavored  to  give 
them  something  of  the  horizon  of  broad  boulevards 
and  watering-places  as  a  preparation.  All  the  girls 
had  their  own  maids,  who  brought  them  the  morn 
ing  cup  of  coffee  whenever  they  rang  —  usually 
not  before  noon.  The  European  day,  Adelle  learned, 
began  about  one  o'clock  with  a  variety  of  expeditions 
and  errands,  and  frequently  ended  well  after  mid 
night  at  opera  or  play,  or  dancing  party  at  the  home 
of  some  American  resident  to  whom  Miss  Comstock 
introduced  her  charges.  This  was  during  the  season. 
Then  there  were,  of  course,  expeditions  to  Rome  and 
Vienna  and  Madrid,  tours  of  cathedral  towns,  in 
spection  of  watering-places,  etc. 

Behold,  thus,  the  sole  descendant  of  the  hard- 
grubbing,  bucolic  Clarks  waking  from  her  final  nap 
at  eleven  in  the  morning,  imbibing  her  coffee  from 
a  delicate  china  cup,  and  nibbling  at  her  brioche, 
while  her  maid  opened  the  shutters,  started  a  fire  in 
the  grate,  and  laid  out  her  dresses,  chattering  all  the 
time  in  charming  French  about  delectable  nothings. 
Addie  Clark,  surely,  would  have  felt  that  she  had 
not  lived  in  vain  if  she  could  have  beheld  her  only 
child  at  this  time,  and  overheard  the  serious  debate 
as  to  which  "robe"  Mademoiselle  Adelle  would 
adorn  herself  with  for  the  afternoon,  and  have  seen 
her,  finally  equipped,  descending  to  the  salon  to  join 
Miss  Comstock,  who  was  usually  engaged  with  her 
correspondence  at  this  hour. 

Adelle,  it  is  perhaps  needless  to  say,  had  quickly 
152 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

perceived  the  enlarged  opportunity  for  the  use  of 
her  magic  lamp.  She  at  once  ordered  a  very  com 
fortable  limousine,  which  was  driven  by  an  experi 
enced  chauffeur,  and  thus  transported  herself,  Miss 
Comstock,  and  any  of  the  girls  she  chose  to  invite 
to  the  exhibition  at  the  Georges  Petit  Gallery,  thence 
to  a  concert,  or  perhaps  merely  to  tea  at  the  new  hotel 
in  the  Champs  Elysees.  If  any  reader  has  perhaps  con 
sidered  Adelle  backward  or  stupid,  he  must  quickly 
revise  that  opinion  at  this  point.  For  it  was  truly 
extraordinary  the  rapidity  with  which  the  pale,  pas 
sive  young  heiress  caught  the  pace  of  Paris.  The  note 
of  the  world  about  her  was  the  spending  note,  and 
the  drafts  she  made  through  her  French  bankers 
upon  the  Washington  Trust  Company  caused  a 
certain  uneasiness  even  among  those  sophisticated 
officials,  used  to  the  expenditures  of  the  rich. 

Of  course,  Miss  Comstock  introduced  her  charges 
to  the  best  dressmakers  and  dispensers  of  lingerie 
and  millinery  (for  which  service  she  obtained  free  of 
charge  all  her  own  clothes).  Adelle  soon  found  her 
own  way  into  the  shops  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  and^ 
developed  a  genuine  passion  —  the  first  one  of  her 
life  —  for  precious  stones.  It  may  be  remembered 
that  when  she  was  taken  as  a  little  girl  for  the  first 
time  into  the  new  home  of  the  trust  company,  she 
had  been  much  impressed  by  the  gorgeousness  of 
colored  marble  and  glass  there  profusely  used.  For 
a  long  time  the  great  banking-room  with  its  dim 
violet  light  had  remained  in  her  memory  as  a  source 

153 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

of  sensuous  delight,  and  as  her  opportunities  had 
increased  she  had  turned  instinctively  to  things  of 
color  and  warmth,  especially  in  stones  and  fabrics. 
In  those  public  and  private  exhibitions  to  which  she 
was  constantly  conducted  as  part  of  her  education 
in  art  she  hung  over  the  cases  that  contained  speci 
mens  of  new  designs  in  metal  and  stone.  Miss  Corn- 
stock,  perceiving  her  interest  in  these  toys,  encour 
aged  Adelle  to  try  her  own  hand  at  the  manufacture 
of  jewelry,  and  engaged  a  needy  woman  worker  to 
give  her  the  necessary  lessons  in  the  lapidary  art. 
Adelle  had  acquired  considerable  sloth  from  her  des 
ultory  way  of  living ;  nevertheless,  when  the  chance 
was  forced  into  her  hands,  she  took  to  the  new  work 
with  ardor  and  produced  some  bungling  imitations  of 
the  new  art,  which  were  much  admired  at  the  Villa 
Ponitowski.  Eveline,  not  to  be  outdone,  took  up 
bookbinding,  though  she  scarcely  knew  the  inside  of 
one  book  from  another.  The  art  of  tooling  leather 
was  then  cultivated  by  women  of  fashion  in  New 
York:  it  gave  them  something  to  talk  about  and  a 
chance  to  play  in  a  studio. 

I  should  like  to  record  that  Adelle  developed  a 
latent  talent  for  making  beautiful  things  in  the  art 
she  had  inadvertently  chosen  to  practice.  But  that 
would  be  straining  the  truth.  It  requires  imagina 
tion  to  produce  original  and  pleasing  objects  in  small 
jewelry,  and  of  imagination  Adelle  had  not  betrayed 
a  spark.  Moreover,  it  takes  patience,  application, 
and  a  skillful  hand  to  become  a  good  craftsman  in 

154 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

any  art,  and  these  virtues  had  no  encouragement  in 
the  life  that  Adelle  had  led  since  leaving  the  Church 
Street  house.  So  in  spite  of  the  admiration  aroused 
by  her  bijoux  when  she  gave  them  to  the  inmates  of 
the  Villa,  it  must  be  admitted  that  they  were  more 
like  the  efforts  of  a  school  child  who  has  prepared  its 
handiwork  for  presents  to  admiring  relatives  than 
anything  else.  But  at  least  it  was  a  real  interest,  and 
it  raised  Adelle  in  her  own  estimation.  Some  of  the 
happiest  days  she  had  known  were  spent  in  the 
studio  of  Miss  Cornelia  Baxter,  on  the  Rue  de  1'Uni- 
versit6.  She  would  have  spent  more  time  there  if 
her  other  engagements  or  distractions  had  not  con 
stantly  interrupted  her  pursuit  of  art.  Her  position 
of  practical  independence  and  unlimited  means  gave 
her  a  prestige  in  "Pussy"  Comstock's  household 
that  exhausted  most  of  her  time  and  energy.  Her 
car  and  herself  were  in  constant  demand.  And  in  the 
Easter  holidays  "the  family"  went  to  Rome  for  a 
month,  and  to  London  at  the  opening  of  the  season 
there  in  June.  So  not  much  time  was  left  for  the 
pursuit  of  art. 

Yet  this  effort  to  make  jewelry  on  Adelle's  part  • 
is  important,  as  the  first  sign  of  promise  of  individu 
ality.  It  betrayed  the  possibility  of  a  taste.  She  loved 
color,  richness  of  substance,  and  Europe  was  satis 
fying  this  instinct.  Pale  and  colorless  herself,  men 
tally  perhaps  anaemic  or  at  least  lethargic,  she  dis 
covered  in  herself  a  passion  for  color  and  richness. 
Certain  formless  dreams  about  life  began  to  haunt 

155 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

her  mind  —  vague  desires  of  warmth  and  color  and 
emotion.  Thus  Paris  was  developing  the  latent  pos 
sibilities  of  sensuousness  in  this  pale  offshoot  of  Puri 
tanism. 


XVII 

THE  winter  had  passed  agreeably  and  rapidly  for 
Adelle.  But  London  did  not  please  her  because 
Miss  Comstock  insisted  upon  a  rather  rigorous 
course  of  museums  and  churches  and  show  places, 
which  always  fatigued  and  bored  Adelle.  She  was 
also  taken  to  garden  parties  where  she  was  expected 
to  talk,  and  that  was  the  last  thing  Adelle  liked  do 
ing.  Whatever  expressive  reaction  to  life  she  had 
could  never  be  put  into  words  for  the  casual  comer. 
She  would  stand  helpless  before  the  most  persistent 
man,  seeking  a  means  of  escape,  and  as  men  are 
rarely  persistent  or  patient  with  a  dumb  girl  she 
stood  alone  much  of  the  time  in  spite  of  her  repu 
tation  for  wealth,  which  Miss  Comstock  carefully 
disseminated  to  prepare  the  way  for  her. 

One  morning  while  her  maid  was  brushing  her 
hair,  an  operation  that  Adelle  particularly  liked  and 
over  which  she  would  dawdle  for  hours,  a  card  was 
brought  to  her,  which  bore  the  name  —  "Mr. 
Ashly  Crane"  —  and  underneath  this  simple  and 
sufficient  explanation  —  "The  Washington  Trust 
Company."  Adelle  had  almost  forgotten  Mr.Crane's 
existence.  He  had  become  more  a  signature  than  a 
a  person  to  her.  Nevertheless,  the  memory  of  her 
girlish  triumph  the  last  time  they  had  met  caused 

157 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

her  to  hasten  her  toilet  and  put  in  an  appearance  in 
the  private  salon  she  had  at  the  hotel  in  something 
less  than  half  an  hour.  There  she  found  the  young 
banker  very  spruce  in  his  frock  coat  and  silk  hat, 
which  he  had  furnished  himself  with  in  America 
and  assumed  the  day  of  his  arrival  on  English  soil. 
He  was  taking  a  vacation,  he  promptly  explained  to 
Adelle,  in  which,  of  course,  he  should  do  several  pieces 
of  important  business.  But  he  gave  the  girl  to  under 
stand  that  she  was  not  on  this  business  list:  he  had 
looked  her  up  purely  as  a  pleasure.  In  fact,  the  trust 
people  had  become  somewhat  uneasy  over  Miss 
Clark's  frequent  drafts,  which  altogether  exceeded 
the  liberal  sum  that  President  West  felt  was  suitable 
for  a  young  woman  to  spend,  though  well  within 
her  present  income,  and  suggested  that  Mr.  Crane 
should  find  out  what  she  was  doing  and  if  she  were 
likely  to  get  into  mischief.  The  young  banker  had 
had  it  in  mind  to  see  Adelle  in  any  case  —  she  had 
left  a  sufficiently  distinct  impression  with  him  for 
that.  There  may  have  revived  in  his  subconscious- 
ness  that  earlier  dream  of  capturing  for  himself  the 
constantly  expanding  Clark  estate,  although  as  yet 
nothing  had  defined  itself  positively  in  his  active 
mind. 

When  at  last  the  girl  entered  the  little  hotel  salon 
where  he  had  been  cooling  his  heels  for  the  half- 
hour,  he  had  a  distinct  quickening  of  this  latent 
purpose.  Adelle  Clark  was  not  at  this  period,  if  she 
ever  was,  what  is  usually  called  a  pretty  girl.  She 

158 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

had  grown  a  little,  and  now  gave  the  impression  of 
being  really  tall,  which  was  largely  an  effect  of  her 
skillful  dressmaker.  Pale  and  slender  and  graceful, 
exquisitely  draped  in  a  gown  subtly  made  for  her, 
with  a  profusion  of  barbaric  jewelry  which  from  this 
time  on  she  always  affected,  Adelle  was  what  is  com 
monly  called  striking.  She  had  the  enviable  qual 
ity  of  attracting  attention  to  herself,  even  on  the 
jaded  streets  of  Paris,  as  suggesting  something  pleas- 
urably  different  from  the  stream  of  passers-by. 
The  American  man  of  affairs  did  not  stop  to  analyze 
all  this.  He  was  merely  conscious  that  here  was  a 
woman  whom  no  man  need  be  ashamed  of,  even  if  he 
married  her  for  other  reasons  than  her  beauty.  And 
he  set  himself  at  once,  not  to  catechize  the  bank's 
ward  about  her  expenditures,  but  to  interest  the 
girl  in  himself.  They  went  to  the  Savoy  for  lunch 
eon,  and  the  trust  officer  noted  pleasurably  the  at 
tention  they  received  as  they  made  their  way 
through  the  crowded  breakfast-room.  And  in  spite 
of  Adelle's  monosyllabic  habit  of  conversation,  they 
got  on  very  well  over  their  food,  about  which  Adelle 
had  well-formulated  ideas.  He  suggested  taking  a 
cab  and  attending  the  cricket  match,  and  so  after 
luncheon  they  gayly  set  forth  on  the  long  ride  to 
Hurlingham  in  the  stream  of  motors  and  cabs  bound 
for  the  match. 

Adelle  smiled  shyly  at  Mr.  Crane's  heavy  sar 
casm  upon  British  ways,  and  replied  briefly  to  his 
questions  about  her  winter  in  Paris.  The  situation 

159 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

was  a  novel  one  to  her,  and  she  enjoyed  it.  The  one 
thing  her  money  had  thus  far  not  done  for  her  was  to 
bring  her  men  —  she  had,  indeed,  done  nothing  her 
self  to  attract  them.  But  now  for  five  hours  she  had 
the  constant  attention  of  a  good-looking,  well- 
dressed,  mature  man.  To  be  sure  Mr.  Ashly  Crane 
was  much  older  than  she.  He  gave  her  the  curious 
sensation  of  being  in  some  way  a  relative.  Was  the 
Washington  Trust  Company  not  the  nearest  thing 
to  a  relative  that  she  had?  And  Mr.  Ashly  Crane 
was  the  personal  symbol  to  her  of  the  trust  com 
pany  —  its  voice  and  lungs  and  clothes.  So  she  felt 
a  faint  emotion  over  the  incident.  As  they  were  re 
turning  from  the  cricket  field  in  the  English  twilight, 
with  the  scurry  of  moving  vehicles  all  about  them, 
Mr.  Crane  ventured  on  more  personal  topics  than 
he  had  hitherto  broached.  He  felt  that  by  this  time 
they  must  be  quite  good  friends.  So  he  began,  — 

Did  she  like  living  in  Europe? 

Yes,  she  found  it  very  pleasant  and  Miss  Corn- 
stock  was  the  nicest  teacher  she  had  ever  had  — 
really  not  like  a  teacher  at  all;  and  she  liked  Miss 
Baxter  and  the  metal-work,  v  (This  was  a  long  and 
complicated  statement  for  Adelle.) 

She  must  show  him  some  of  her  work.  Was  that 
chain  (taking  it  familiarly  in  his  hands  to  look  at  it) 
her  own  handiwork? 

Oh,  no;  that  was  a  Lalique  .  .  .  the  chief  artist 
in  this  genre  in  Paris.  (The  banker  mentally  ac 
counted  for  some  of  the  recent  drafts.)  Did  n't  he 

160 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

think  it  pretty?  —  such  an  unusual  arrangement  of 
the  stones ! 

He  should  not  call  it  exactly  pretty  —  odd  rather; 

—  but  it  was  very  becoming  to  her.  .  .  .  He  should 
like  to  see  some  of  her  own  work,  etc. 

Oh,  she  should  never  dare  to  show  him  anything 
she  had  done.  She  was  nothing  but  a  beginner, 
etc.,  etc. 

Later  on,  as  they  entered  the  dark  precincts  of  the 
city,  another  step  nearer  the  personal  was  taken. 

She  would  want  to  spend  another  year  in  Europe 
probably? 

Oh,  yes,  they  had  the  loveliest  plans.  Miss  Corn- 
stock  was  going  to  take  her  and  Eveline  Glynn  on  a 
visit  to  some  friends  who  had  an  estate  in  Poland,  in 
the  mountains,  a  real  castle,  etc.  (Mental  note  by 
the  banker  —  "Must  look  up  this  Comstock  woman 

—  seems  to  have  a  good  deal  of  influence  upon  the 
girl.")    And  then  they  were  all  going  to  Italy  again 
in  the  spring  and  perhaps  Greece,  though  everybody 
said  that  was  too  hard  on  account  of  the  poor  hotels. 
And  she  did  want  to  go  up  the  Nile  and  see  the 
Sphynx  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  etc.,  etc.    (Pause). 

Had  she  any  idea  what  she  would  like  to  do  after 
wards,  where  she  wanted  to  live? 

When? 

Why,  after  she  had  finished  her  education. 

Oh,  she  wanted  to  go  on  making  pretty  things  — 
she  should  have  a  studio  of  her  own,  of  course,  like 
Miss  Baxter. 

161 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Where?" 

"Why  in  Paris, — perhaps  New  York,"  Adelle 
replied  vaguely,  indifferently. 

That  gave  Mr.  Crane  an  opportunity  for  an  im 
proving  homily  on  the  folly  of  expatriation,  the 
beauty  of  living  in  one's  own  country  among  one's 
own  people,  and  so  forth,  which  brought  them  to  the 
door  of  Adelle's  hotel.  Mr.  Crane  came  in  and  met 
Miss  Comstock  and  the  girls  she  had  with  her. 
Then  he  disappeared  and  returned  later  in  full  dress 
and  took  the  party  to  the  Carlton  for  dinner  and 
then  to  a  light  opera.  The  girls  were  entranced  with 
Mr.  Crane,  especially  the  two  Californians,  and  re 
doubled  their  envy  of  the  fortunate  Adelle  in  having 
this  handsome  substitute  for  a  parent.  They  called 
him  her  "beau,"  by  which  designation  Mr.  Ashly 
Crane  was  henceforth  known  among  Pussy  Corn- 
stock's  girls  during  their  sojourn  in  London. 

He  had  not  made  quite  the  same  favorable  im 
pression  upon  Miss  Comstock,  who  was  acquainted 
with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  The  two  recog 
nized  immediately  an  antagonism  of  interests,  and 
spent  this  first  evening  of  their  acquaintance  in 
reconnoitering  each  other's  position  with  Adelle. 
"Little  bounder,"  Miss  Comstock  pronounced  with 
the  quick  perception  of  a  woman;  "he's  after  the 
girl's  money."  While  the  man  said  to  himself,  with 
the  more  ponderous  indirectness  of  the  male,  — 
"That  woman  is  not  quite  the  influence  that  an  un 
formed  girl  should  have  about  her.  She 's  working  the 

162 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

girl,  too,  for  motors  and  things."  And  yet  both 
smiled  and  joked  companionably  across  the  shoul 
ders  of  the  unconscious  Adelle. 

As  the  trust  officer  returned  to  his  hotel  in  his 
hansom,  he  jingled  a  few  stray  coins  in  his  pocket, 
the  remains  of  twenty  pounds  in  gold  that  the  day 
had  cost  him.  A  long  education  in  finance,  however, 
had  taught  him  to  be  indifferent  to  these  petty  mat 
ters  of  preliminary  expense.  Nevertheless,  before 
retiring  he  entered  up  the  sum  to  the  Clark  estate 
expense  account.  Poor  Adelle,  dreaming  of  her 
"beau"!  Her  first  real  spree  with  a  man  was 
charged  to  her  own  purse. 


XVIII 

THERE  were  many  similar  items  added  to  the  ac 
count  during  the  next  fortnight.  It  seemed  that  Mr. 
Ashly  Crane  had  nothing  better  to  do  with  his  Euro 
pean  vacation  than  to  give  Miss  Clark  and  her  com 
panions  a  good  time,  or,  as  he  intimated  to  Miss 
Comstock,  "to  get  into  closer  touch  with  the  com 
pany's  ward."  Naturally  he  was  a  godsend  to  the 
Comstock  girls,  for  he  could  take  them  to  places 
where  without  a  man  they  could  not  go.  There  was 
a  mild  orgy  of  motoring,  dining,  and  theater.  Pussy 
Comstock,  experienced  campaigner  that  she  was, 
made  no  objection  to  this  junketing.  A  fixed  princi 
ple  with  her  was  to  let  any  man  spend  his  money  as 
freely  as  he  was  inclined  to.  Yet  she  skillfully  so 
contrived  that  the  young  banker  had  few  opportun 
ities  of  solitary  communion  with  his  ward.  At  first 
Mr.  Crane  did  not  understand  why  the  Glynn  girl 
or  one  of  the  Paul  sisters  was  always  in  the  way,  and 
then  he  comprehended  the  artful  maneuver  of  the 
woman  and  resented  it.  One  afternoon,  when  he  had 
taken  the  party  up  the  river,  he  announced  bluntly 
after  tea  that  he  and  Adelle  were  going  out  in  a  punt 
together.  Leaving  Miss  Comstock  and  the  three 
other  girls  to  amuse  themselves  as  they  could,  he 
stoutly  pulled  forth  from  the  landing  and  around  a 

164 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

bend  in  the  river.  Thereafter  his  efforts  relaxed,  and 
he  had  Adelle  to  himself  for  two  long  hours.  And 
Adelle,  reclining  on  the  gaudy  cushions  under  an 
enormous  pink  sunshade,  was  not  unenticing.  Her 
air  of  indolent  taciturnity  was  almost  provoking. 
Mr.  Ashly  Crane  quite  persuaded  himself  that  he 
was  really  in  love  with  the  young  heiress. 

Oddly  enough  he  chose  this  opportunity  to  dis 
cuss  with  her  her  business  affairs,  which  was  the  ex 
cuse  he  had  tossed  Miss  Comstock  for  abstracting 
the  ward  from  the  rest  of  the  party.  He  found  that 
she  knew  almost  nothing  about  the  source  of  her  for 
tune  —  that  lean  stretch  of  sandy  acres  known  as 
Clark's  Field.  He  related  to  her  the  outline  of  the 
story  of  the  Field  as  it  has  been  told  in  these  pages. 
Adelle  listened  with  a  peculiarly  blank  expression  on 
her  pale  face.  She  was  in  fact  trying  hard  to  recall 
certain  distant  images  of  her  early  life  —  memories 
that  were  neither  pleasant  nor  painful,  but  very  odd 
to  her,  so  strange  that  she  could  not  realize  herself 
as  having  once  been  the  little  drudge  in  the  room 
ing-house  on  Church  Street,  with  the  manager  of  the 
livery-stable  as  the  star  roomer.  While  the  banker 
was  relating  the  steps  by  which  she  had  become  an 
heiress,  she  was  seeing  the  face  of  the  liveryman  and 
that  of  the  probate  judge,  who  had  first  taken  an 
active  part  in  her  destiny  and  turned  it  into  its 
present  smooth  course.  .  .  . 

"So,"  Mr.  Crane  was  saying,  "the  bank  was  fin 
ally  able  to  make  an  arrangement  by  which  the  long 

165 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

deadlock  was  broken  and  Clark's  Field  could  be 
sold  —  put  on  the  market  in  small  lots,  you  know. 
Owing  to  a  very  fortunate  provision,  you  are  the 
beneficiary  of  one  half  of  the  sales  made  by  the 
Field  Associates,  as  the  corporation  is  called  — 
whenever  they  dispose  of  any  of  it  they  pay  us  for 
you  half  the  money!" 

(He  neglected  to  state  that  this  "  fortunate  pro 
vision"  was  due  solely  to  the  shrewdness  and  prob 
ity  of  Judge  Orcutt;  that  if  he  and  the  trust  com 
pany's  president  had  had  their  way  she  would  have 
been  obliged  to  content  herself  with  a  much  more 
modest  income  than  she  now  enjoyed.  But  doubt 
less  Mr.  Crane  felt  that  was  irrelevant.) 

"So  you  see,  little  girl,"  he  concluded,  in  a  burst 
of  unguarded  enthusiasm,  "we  are  piling  up  money 
for  you  while  you  are  playing  over  here." 

As  something  seemed  to  be  expected  of  her,  Adelle 
remarked  lamely,  — 

"That  is  very  nice." 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Crane  continued  with  satisfaction. 
"You  can  congratulate  yourself  on  having  such 
good  care  of  your  property  as  we  give  it.  ...  And 
let  me  tell  you  it  did  n't  look  promising  at  first. 
There  were  no  end  of  legal  snarls  that  had  to  be 
straightened  out  —  in  fact,  if  I  had  n't  urged  it 
strongly  on  the  old  man  I  doubt  if  they  would  have 
taken  hold  of  the  thing  at  all!" 

"Oh,"  Adelle  responded  idly,  "what  was  the 
trouble?" 

166 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Why,  those  other  heirs  —  that  Edward  S.  Clark 
and  his  children.  If  they  had  turned  up  we  should 
have  been  in  a  pretty  mess." 

"Oh!" 

"It  would  have  upset  everything." 

"Why?" 

He  had  just  explained  all  this,  but  thinking  that 
women  never  understood  business  matters  until 
everything  had  been  explained  several  times,  and 
anxious  to  impress  the  girl  with  the  benefits  that  she 
had  derived  from  the  guardian  which  the  law  had 
given  her,  also  indirectly  from  himself,  he  patiently 
went  all  over  the  point  again. 

"Why,  your  great-grandfather  Clark  had  two 
sons,  and  when  he  died  he  left  a  will  in  which  he  gave 
both  of  his  sons  an  undivided  half  interest  in  this 
land.  But  the  elder  son  had  disappeared  —  they 
could  never  find  him." 

"Edward,"  observed  the  girl,  remembering  her 
uncle's  frequent  curses  at  the  obstinate  Edward. 
"Yes,  I  know.  He  went  to  Chicago  and  got  lost." 

"Afterward  he  went  to  St.  Louis,  but  beyond  that 
no  trace  of  him  or  his  family  can  be  found." 

"I  suppose  some  day  he  will  turn  up  when  he 
hears  that  there's  some  money,"  Adelle  remarked 
simply. 

The  banker  scowled. 

"Well,  I  hope  not!  .  .  .  Edward  is  n't  likely  to 
now:  he  must  be  a  young  thing  of  eighty-seven  by 
this  time." 

167 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Well,  his  children,  then." 

"They  would  have  difficulty  in  proving  their 
claim.  You  see  there's  been  a  judicial  sale,  ordered 
by  the  court,  and  every  precaution  taken.  .  .  .  No, 
there's  no  possibility  of  trouble  in  that  quarter." 

"Then  they  won't  get  their  money?"  Adelle  re 
marked,  thinking  how  disappointed  these  hypo 
thetical  descendants  of  Edward  Clark  must  be. 

"No,"  agreed  the  trust  officer  with  a  laugh. 
"They're  too  late  for  dinner." 

Adelle,  who  did  not  understand  the  mental  jump 
of  a  figure  of  speech,  stared  at  him  blankly. 

"It's  too  bad,"  she  observed  placidly  at  last. 

"Yes,  it  is  decidedly  too  bad  for  them,"  the 
banker  repeated  ironically.  "But  it's  life." 

After  this  profound  reflection  they  paddled  idly 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  the  trust  officer  re 
sumed,  nearer  to  his  theme. 

"So  you  see,  Miss  Clark,  you're  likely  to  be  a 
pretty  rich  woman  when  you  come  of  age.  The  old 
leases  on  the  estate  are  running  out,  and  as  fast  as 
they  can  the  managers  of  the  Clark's  Field  Associ 
ates  sell  at  a  good  price  or  make  a  long  lease  at  a 
high  figure  and  everything  helps  to  swell  the  estate, 
which  we  are  investing  safely  for  you  in  good  stocks 
and  bonds  that  are  sure  to  increase  in  value  before 
you  will  want  to  sell  them." 

"How  much  money  is  there?"  Adelle  demanded 
unexpectedly.  This  was  her  opportunity  to  discover 
the  size  of  her  magic  lamp. 

168 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"  I  could  n't  say  offhand,"  the  banker  replied  cau 
tiously.  "  But  enough  to  keep  you  from  want,  if  you 
don't  spend  too  much  making  jewelry."  He  added 
facetiously, —  "  You  don't  feel  cramped  for  money, 
do  you?" 

"No-o,"  the  girl  admitted  dubiously.  "But  you 
can't  always  tell  what  you  may  want." 

"If  you  don't  want  much  more  than  you  do  at 
present,  you're  safe,"  Mr.  Crane  stated  guardedly. 
"That  is,  if  nothing  goes  wrong  —  a  panic,  and  that 
sort  of  thing." 

After  a  pause  he  said,  — 

"But  you  should  have  some  one  look  after  your 
property,  invest  it  for  you  —  a  woman  can't  do  that 
very  well." 

"The  bank  does  it,  don't  it?" 

"  I  mean  after  you  are  of  age  and  have  control  of 
your  own  property." 

"Oh,"  the  girl  murmured  vaguely,  running  her 
hand  through  the  ripples  of  river  water.  "That's  a 
good  ways  off !  ...  I  suppose  I  shall  be  married  by 
that  time,  and  he  will  look  after  it  for  me." 

She  said  this  in  a  thoroughly  matter-of-fact  voice, 
but  the  banker  almost  jumped  from  his  seat  at  the 
words. 

"You  are  n't  thinking  of  getting  married  yet!" 
he  exclaimed  hastily. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  some  day,"  she  replied. 

"Of  course  you'll  marry  sometime,"  he  said  with 
relief;  and  ran  on  glibly,  —  "That  is  the  natural 

169 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

thing.  Every  girl  should  get  married  early.  But  you 
must  take  good  care,  my  dear  girl,  not  to  make  a 
mistake.  You  might  be  very  unhappy,  you  know. 
He  might  not  treat  you  right."  And  with  a  sense 
of  climax  he  exclaimed,  —  "He  might  lose  all  your 
money  —  ruin  you ! " 

"Yes,  he  might,"  Adelle  agreed  with  composure. 
"They  do  that  sometimes." 

She  looked  at  him  from  her  open  gray  eyes  undis 
turbed  by  the  prospect,  as  if,  womanlike,  she  was 
aware  of  this  unpleasant  fate  in  danger  of  which  she 
must  always  be.  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  knew  that  this 
was  the  point  when  his  love-making  should  begin, 
but  suddenly  he  felt  that  Adelle  Clark  was  a  very 
difficult  person  to  make  love  to. 

"Perhaps  you've  been  thinking  of  the  man?"  he 
opened  clumsily. 

She  shook  her  head  thoughtfully. 

"No,  I  haven't." 

"But  you  could  love  some  one?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  answered  in  such  a  matter- 
of-fact  tone  that  for  the  moment  he  was  baffled.  The 
present  situation,  he  decided,  was  unfavorable  for 
love-making,  and  searched  desperately  within  for 
his  next  words. 

"I  wonder  what  they  look  like,"  Adelle  mused 
aloud. 

"Who  look  like  —  husbands?" 

"No,  Edward's  children  —  the  other  heirs,"  she 
explained. 

170 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Perhaps  there  are  n't  any,"  he  snapped. 

And  under  his  breath  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  con 
signed  Edward  S.  Clark  and  all  his  offspring  to 
perdition. 


XIX 

MR.  CRANE  was  a  persistent  person.  Otherwise  he 
would  hardly  have  arrived  where  he  had  in  the 
Washington  Trust  Company.  Having  failed  to 
broach  the  great  subject  in  the  afternoon,  he  imme 
diately  made  another  opportunity  for  himself  by 
hustling  Adelle,  ahead  of  the  others,  into  his  own  cab 
for  the  return  drive  to  the  city,  and  then  jumping 
in  after  her  and  giving  the  driver  the  order  to  leave. 
It  was  very  ill-bred  and  he  knew  it,  but  he  was  de 
termined  not  to  bother  about  Miss  Comstock  any 
longer.  His  vacation  was  very  nearly  at  an  end,  and 
this  would  be  his  last  chance  for  another  year  if  the 
ward  was  to  remain  in  Europe  as  was  her  present  de 
termination.  He  consoled  himself  with  the  thought 
that  the  others  had  Adelle's  car  at  their  disposal, 
and  gave  the  order  to  take  a  roundabout  road  back 
to  London.  The  driver  needed  but  the  suggestion 
to  plunge  them  into  a  maze  of  forgotten  country 
roads  where  there  were  no  lights  and  no  impeding 
traffic.  .  .  . 

There  are  in  general  three  ways  in  which  to  make 
love  to  a  woman,  young  or  old:  the  deliberate,  the 
impulsive,  and  the  inevitable.  Of  the  third  there  is 
no  occasion  to  speak  here,  as  neither  Ashly  Crane 
nor  Adelle  understood  it.  Of  the  remaining  two  the 

172 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

deliberate  method  of  cautious,  persistent  siege  was 
more  to  the  taste  and  the  temperament  of  the 
banker,  but  he  was  strictly  limited  in  time.  The 
Kaiser  Nonsuch,  on  which  his  passage  was  reserved, 
sailed  in  three  days  from  Southampton,  and  he  must 
win  within  that  brief  period  or  put  the  matter  over 
for  a  whole  year.  And  he  judged  that  Adelle,  under 
her  present  environment  with  such  an  expert  man 
ager  as  Miss  Catherine  Comstock,  would  not  be  left 
hanging  on  the  bough  within  his  reach  for  long. 
A  year's  delay  would  almost  surely  be  fatal,  and  it 
was  uncertain  whether  he  could  get  away  before  the 
next  summer  from  his  important  responsibilities  at 
the  Washington  Trust  Company.  So  haste  must  be 
the  word. 

That  he  should  reason  thus  about  a  delicate  mat 
ter  of  sentiment  betrays  not  merely  the  man's 
coarse  grain,  but  the  inferiority  of  the  commercial 
experience  in  making  an  accomplished  lover.  He 
had  been  trained  in  the  "new  school"  of  rapid 
finance  to  complete  large  transactions  on  the  moment, 
never  letting  small  uncertainties  or  delays  interfere 
with  his  purposes.  It  was  really  not  essential  to  the 
working  of  the  financial  system — even  for  the  salva 
tion  of  the  Washington  Trust  Company  —  that  Mr. 
Ashly  Crane  should  turn  up  at  his  desk  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  twenty-sixth  instanter.  It  might  just  as 
well  have  been  the  thirty-first  or  even  the  middle  of 
the  next  month  —  or,  if  he  should  have  the  good 
luck  to  gain  the  heart  and  hand  of  the  heiress,  never 

173 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

at  all!  But  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  was  neither  of  the 
temperament  nor  of  the  age  to  play  the  sentimental 
game  thus  desperately.  He  was  altogether  too  much 
an  American  to  let  his  love-making  interfere  with  his 
business  schedule.  (Besides,  there  was  not  another 
swift  steamer  sailing  for  New  York  for  three  weeks.) 

So  he  sighed,  and  when  the  cab  shot  into  the  um 
brageous  dimness  of  old  trees  he  took  the  girl's  hand 
in  his.  She  made  no  attempt  to  withdraw  her  hand. 
Probably  Adelle  was  more  frightened  by  this  first 
experience  in  the  eternal  situation  than  the  man  was, 
and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal.  She  took  refuge  in 
her  usual  defense  against  life  and  its  many  perplex 
ities,  which  was  silence,  permitting  the  banker  to 
press  her  captive  hand  for  several  moments  while 
the  cab  tossed  on  the  uneven  road  and  Crane  was 
summoning  his  nerve  for  the  next  step.  Her  heart 
beat  a  little  faster,  and  she  wondered  what  was  go 
ing  to  happen. 

That  was  the  man's  attempt  to  encircle  her  waist 
with  his  free  arm.  In  this  maneuver  Adelle  did  not 
assist  him:  instead,  she  pushed  herself  back  against 
the  cushion  so  firmly  that  it  made  it  a  difficult 
engineering  feat  to  obtain  possession  of  her  figure. 
By  this  time  his  face  was  close  to  hers,  and  he  was 
stammering  incoherently  such  words  as  —  "Adelle" 
.  .  .  "Dearest"  .  .  .  "Love"  .  .  .  etc.  But  we  will 
spare  the  reader  Mr.  Ashly  Crane's  crude  imita 
tion  of  ardor.  All  love-making,  even  the  most  sin 
cere  and  eloquent,  is  verbally  disappointingly  alike 

174 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  rather  tame.  The  human  animal,  ingenious  as 
he  is  in  many  ways,  is  nevertheless  almost  as  lim 
ited  as  the  ape  when  it  comes  to  the  articulation  of 
the  deeper  emotions.  That  is  why  delicacy  and  the 
habit  of  nuances  give  the  experienced  wooer  such  an 
immense  advantage,  even  with  a  raw  girl  like  Adelle, 
over  the  mere  clumsy  male.  Love,  like  the  drama, 
being  so  rigidly  limited  in  technique,  is  no  field  for 
the  bungler!  And  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  was  far  from 
being  an  artist  in  anything. 

By  this  time  Adelle  had  become  aware  that  she 
was  being  made  love  to.  It  filled  her  with  a  variety 
of  emotions  not  clearly  defined.  First  of  all,  there 
was  something  of  the  woman's  natural  complacency 
in  her  first  capture,  more  vivid  than  when  the  other 
girls  had  dubbed  Mr.  Crane  her  "beau."  This  was 
a  bona  fide  illustration  of  what  all  the  girls  talked 
about  most  of  the  time  and  the  novels  were  full  of 
from  cover  to  cover  —  love-making !  And  next  was 
a  feeling  akin  to  repugnance.  Mr.  Crane  was  not 
aged  —  barely  forty-two  —  and  he  was  good-look 
ing  enough  and  quite  the  man.  But  to  Adelle  he  had 
always  been,  if  not  exactly  a  parent,  at  least  an  older 
brother  or  uncle,  —  in  some  category  of  relationship 
other  than  that  of  young  love.  That  he  should  thus 
hastily  be  professing  ardent  sentiments  towards  her 
seemed  a  trifle  improper.  Beneath  these  superficial 
feelings  there  were,  of  course,  some  deeper  ones;  — 
for  instance,  a  slight  sense  of  humor  in  his  clumsy 
management  and  a  feeling  of  gratification  that  at 

175 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

last  the  unknown  had  arrived.  And  a  something  else 
not  wholly  unpleasant  in  her  own  small  person.  .  .  . 

Crane  was  mumbling  something  about  his  loneli 
ness  and  her  unprotected  condition.  Adelle  was  not 
aware  that  she  was  to  be  pitied  because  of  lack  of 
protection,  but  she  liked  to  be  the  object  of  sym 
pathy.  Gradually  she  relaxed,  and  permitted  him  to 
insert  his  arm  between  her  and  the  cushion,  which 
he  seemed  so  ridiculously  anxious  to  do.  At  once 
he  drew  her  slight  form  towards  him.  He  was  say 
ing, — 

' '  Dearest !     Can  you  —  will  you  — ' ' 

And  she  demanded  point-blank,  — 

"What?" 

"Love  me!"  the  man  breathed  very  close  to  hen 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  struggling  to  regain 
her  refuge  in  the  corner  from  which  his  embrace  had 
dragged  her. 

And  just  here  Ashly  Crane  committed  an  irre 
trievable  blunder,  due  to  those  imperfections  of  na 
ture  and  technique  which  have  been  described  be 
fore.  As  the  cab  lurched,  throwing  the  girl  nearer 
him,  he  grasped  her  very  firmly  and  kissed  her.  The 
Kaiser  Nonsuch  sailed  on  the  Thursday,  and  it  was 
now  Monday.  .  .  . 

As  his  mustached  lips  sought  her  small  mouth  and 
met  the  cold,  hard  little  lips,  he  knew  that  he  had 

/taken  a  fearful  risk.  Adelle  did  not  scream.  She  did 
not  struggle  very  much.  She  took  the  kiss  passively, 
as  if  she  had  some  curiosity  to  know  what  a  man's 

176 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

kiss  was  like.  After  he  had  given  it  with  sufficient 
ardor  and  was  ready  to  relax  his  passionate  embrace, 
she  drew  back  calmly  into  her  corner  and  looked  at 
him  very  coolly  out  of  her  gray  eyes.  After  the 
flurry  of  the  struggle,  with  her  brown  hair  slightly 
awry,  her  hat  tipped  back,  and  her  lips  still  half 
open  as  they  had  been  forced  by  his  kiss,  she  was  al 
most  pretty.  But  those  gray  eyes  looked  at  him  as  no 
girl  ought  to  look  after  her  lover's  first  kiss,  and  let 
us  hope  as  few  girls  do  look.  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  read 
there  that  he  had  lost  his  chance  with  the  heiress. 
There  was  just  enough  of  spirit  even  in  his  com 
mon  clay  to  divine  this.  If  only  he  had  not  been  so 
hasty!  —  not  tried  to  "put  the  thing  through"  be 
fore  sailing,  and  do  it  in  the  manner  of  the  "whirl 
wind  campaign."  .  .  . 

For  a  moment  or  two  there  was  silence  within  the 
cab  while  the  car  rocked  on  in  its  mad  race  for  Lon 
don.  They  were  well  within  the  outskirts  of  the  city 
now,  and  the  banker  knew  that  there  would  not  be 
time  to  work  up  to  another  crisis.  He  must  defer  the 
recovery  until  the  morrow,  if  he  could  summon  cour 
age  to  go  on  with  it  at  all.  But  the  girl  still  stared  at 
him  out  of  her  wide-open  eyes,  as  if  she  were  saying 
in  her  small  head  —  "So  that's  what  a  man's  kiss 
is  like."  He  muttered  uncomfortably  a  lot  of  non 
sense  about  forgetting  himself,  and  her  forgiving 
him,  —  ignorant  that  in  such  a  grave  matter  for 
giveness  is  always  out  of  the  question:  either  it  is 
not  needed,  or  it  cannot  possibly  be  given.  Adelle  said 

177 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

nothing,  merely  looked  at  him  until  he  was  driven 
to  turn  his  head  away  and  gaze  out  of  the  swiftly 
moving  cab  at  the  lighted  streets  to  escape  the  won 
der  and  the  surprise  and  the  contempt  in  those  gray 
eyes.  As  they  turned  into  Piccadilly,  he  remarked 
brusquely,  —  "I  shall  come  to-morrow  morning  — 
and  get  your  answer! "  That  was  to  " save  his  face," 
as  we  say,  for  her  answer  was  written  in  those  eyes. 
Again  he  took  her  little  ungloved  hand  and  tried  to 
bear  it  to  his  lips.  But  this  time  Adelle  gently, 
firmly  extracted  it  from  his  grasp  and  placed  it  be 
hind  her  back  with  its  mate,  safely  out  of  reach,  still 
looking  at  him  gravely. 

Crane  helped  her  out  of  the  cab,  and  turned  to 
pay  the  driver,  who  was  beaming  with  expectation  of 
an  extra  fee  for  his  participation  in  this  adventure. 
When  he  had  settled  the  fare,  Adelle  had  disap 
peared  within  the  hotel.  Judging  that  it  might  be 
unwise  to  follow  her,  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  walked  off  to 
his  hotel,  scowling  along  the  way,  very  little  pleased 
with  himself.  He  was  really  more  mortified  at  dis 
covering  how  poor  an  artist  in  the  business  he  was 
than  by  his  ill  success  itself. 

"Nothing  but  a  meek,  pale-faced,  little  school 
girl,  too!"  he  was  saying  to  himself.  And  aloud,  — 
"Oh,  damn  the  women." 


XX 


ADELLE  went  straight  to  her  own  rooms,  but  before 
she  could  close  the  door  Miss  Comstock  was  on  her 
heels.  Having  taken  the  direct  route  to  London 
in  Adelle's  swift  car,  she  had  had  ample  time  to 
change  her  gown,  and  now  looked  specially  groomed 
and  ready  for  the  encounter,  with  keen,  knowing 
green  eyes.  Closing  the  door  carefully,  Miss  Com 
stock  turned,  looked  Adelle  over  from  her  hat, 
which  was  still  slightly  tipped,  to  her  ungloved 
hands. 

"Well?"  she  remarked  with  perceptible  irony. 

Adelle  did  not  mean  to  tell  anything.  She  wanted 
to  keep  this,  her  first  affair,  to  herself,  no  matter 
what  she  might  consider  it  to  be,  and  she  was  not 
yet  sure  what  she  should  think  of  it  finally.  So  she 
had  tried  her  best  to  dodge  her  companions  until  she 
had  had  time  to  simulate  her  usual  appearance.  But 
she  had  been  caught  by  "Pussy"  red-handed.  To 
the  mentor's  repeated  "Well?"  she  said  nothing,  a 
foolish  little  smile  starting  without  her  will  around 
the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"So  he  kissed  you?"  Miss  Comstock  continued ; 
and  as  Adelle's  eyes  dropped  guiltily,  she  remarked 
contemptuously,  —  "The  cad!" 

Adelle  was  only  vaguely  acquainted  with  the  mean- 
179 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

ing  of  this  hateful  word,  but  if  she  had  realized  its 
full  significance  she  would  not  have  cared,  though  she 
had  no  desire  to  defend  Mr.  Ashly  Crane.  She  was 
silent,  while  Miss  Comstock  tore  a  few  more  shreds 
from  Adelle's  poor  little  "affair." 

"  I  knew  that  was  what  he  was  after  from  the  first, 
my  dear.  It  was  written  all  over  him !  .  .  .  A  pretty 
kind  of  an  officer  for  a  trust  company  to  have!  If 
the  directors  of  the  Washington  Trust  Company 
knew  of  this  there  would  be  trouble  for  Mr.  Ashly 
Crane!  ...  A  ward,  too  — " 

"He's  always  been  nice  to  me,"  Adelle  protested 
lamely,  feeling  that  in  her  invective  Pussy  was 
reflecting  upon  her  guardians. 

"Of  course!  ...  I  have  no  doubt  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  get  you,  as  soon  as  he  knew  how  rich  you 
would  be." 

This  was  too  raw  even  for  Adelle.  The  girl  drew 
herself  up  haughtily,  and  Miss  Comstock  adroitly 
covered  up  her  mistake. 

"You  know,  my  dear,  that  is  one  of  the  dangers 
any  woman  with  money  is  exposed  to.  Luckily  this 
is  your  first  experience  with  the  mere  fortune-hunter, 
but  you  will  find  that  there  are  many  men  in  the 
world  just  like  this  Mr.  Ashly  Crane,  who  are  in 
capable  of  a  genuine  passion  for  any  woman,  and 
are  always  looking  for  a  rich  wife.  No  girl  wants  to 
think  that  a  man  is  making  love  to  her  because  she 
has  money  —  especially  when  she  has  other  attrac 
tions.  ...  To  think  that  this  man,  who  ought  to 

i  So 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

have  shielded  you  from  everything,  should  be  the 
one  to  humiliate  you  so!" 

She  proceeded  with  an  admirable  mingling  of 
flattery  and  friendliness  to  put  Adelle  on  her  guard 
against  the  male  sex. 

"At  least,"  she  concluded,  "a  man  ought  to 
have  something  to  offer  a  rich  girl,  —  a  name  or 
position.  What  has  that  little  cad  to  give  you? 
Social  position?  A  title?  Nothing!  If  a  woman  must 
marry,  she  should  get  something  in  the  bargain." 

She  succeeded  in  thoroughly  humiliating  Adelle 
for  what  she  had  secretly  been  a  little  proud  of, 
her  first  " affair,"  and  easily  killed  with  her  con 
tempt  any  possibility  of  the  girl's  yielding  to  the 
banker's  persistency. 

"He  said  he  was  coming  to  see  me  to-morrow," 
Adelle  finally  pouted  almost  tearfully. 

"He  will  see  me  to-morrow  instead,"  Miss  Corn- 
stock  said  promptly;  "and  I  don't  think  he  will 
trouble  you  again." 

The  encounter  on  the  following  morning  between  the 
trust  officer  and  Pussy  Comstock  is  not  a  part  of  this 
story.  Enough  to  say  that  Mr.  Crane  got  his  steamer 
at  Southampton  and  was  happily  so  seasick  all  the 
way  across  that  he  could  not  worry  over  his  failure 
in  the  gentle  art  of  love-making.  He  told  his  friends 
that  he  had  spent  a  dull  vacation  in  England,  and 
spoke  disparagingly  of  British  institutions  and  of 
Europe  for  Americans  generally.  When  President 
West  inquired  about  the  ward,  he  spoke  very  guard- 

181 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

edly  of  Adelle  and  of  Miss  Catherine  Comstock.  He 
intimated  that  Miss  Clark  had  developed  into  an 
uninteresting  and  somewhat  headstrong  young  wo 
man,  and  implied  that  he  had  doubts  about  the  in 
fluence  which  her  present  mentor  had  upon  her  char 
acter.  However,  the  trust  company  would  soon  be 
absolved  from  all  responsibility  for  its  ward,  and  it 
might  be  as  well  to  let  matters  rest  as  they  were  for 
the  present,  if  the  drafts  from  Paris  did  not  become 
too  outrageous,  which,  of  course,  was  exactly  what 
Mr.  West  and  the  other  officers  wished  to  do  — 
nothing. 

Hereafter  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  must  honor  any  draft 
that  Adelle  might  make,  no  matter  how ' '  outrageous" 
it  was.  (The  drafts  came  fluttering  across  the  ocean 
on  every  steamer  for  ever-increasing  amounts  until 
the  young  heiress  was  living  at  the  rate  of  nearly 
forty  thousand  dollars  a  year.)  The  banker  might 
wonder  how  a  young  girl,  still  nominally  in  school, 
could  get  away  with  so  much  money.  He  might  fear 
that  her  extravagance  would  become  a  habit  and 
carry  her  even  beyond  the  limits  of  her  large  means. 
But  he  could  not  say  a  word.  Miss  Comstock,  in 
deed,  had  put  him  in  a  sorry  situation  for  a  full- 
grown  banker.  The  more  he  thought  about  the  un 
fortunate  episode  of  his  love-making,  the  more  he 
cursed  himself.  President  West,  whose  special  pro- 
teg6  the  young  banker  had  always  been,  held  very 
strict  notions  about  honor  and  the  relation  of  the 
officers  of  the  company  to  its  clients.  In  Adelle's 

182 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

case  —  that  of  a  minor  entrusted  to  them  by  the 
probate  court  —  the  president  would  feel  doubly 
incensed  if  he  suspected  that  any  officer  had  at 
tempted  to  take  advantage  of  her  unprotected  and 
inexperienced  youth.  So  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  walked 
softly  these  days  and  promptly  honored  Adelle's 
drafts. 


XXI 

OF  course  this  was  precisely  what  Pussy  Comstock 
had  been  clever  enough  to  see  when,  in  the  idiom 
with  which  Mr.  Crane  was  familiar,  she  had  had  the 
trust  officer  "on  the  carpet"  and  "called  him  down" 
on  that  memorable  occasion  of  the  day  after.  He 
might  tell  her,  as  he  had  recklessly  done,  that  her 
own  relation  to  the  rich  girl  depended  solely  upon 
his  consent,  and  hint  coarsely  that  he  knew  well 
enough  the  ground  of  her  extreme  interest  in  Adelle's 
fate.  Miss  Comstock  did  not  take  the  trouble  to 
deny  either  fact.  She  merely  smiled  at  the  bluster 
ing  banker,  and  intimated  that  the  president  and 
directors  of  the  trust  company  might  have  views 
about  the  conduct  of  its  trust  officer  towards  their 
ward.  She  had  heard  much  of  the  prominent  social 
position  of  President  West,  and  if  she  were  not  mis 
taken  Mr.  Nelson  Glynn,  the  father  of  one  of  her 
girls,  was  a  director  in  the  bank.  Mr.  Crane  wilted 
under  this  fine  treatment,  and  departed  as  we  have 
seen  to  do  Miss  Comstock's  will. 

This  blunder  of  Adelle's  official  guardian  also  gave 
Miss  Comstock  a  great  prestige  with  the  girl  her 
self.  Pussy  had  so  cleverly  unmasked  the  designing 
man  that  Adelle  felt  only  mortification  for  the  inci 
dent  and  was  grateful  for  Miss  Comstock's  friend- 

184 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

ship  and  impressed  by  her  knowledge  of  the  world. 
Miss  Comstock  made  much  of  her  in  the  ensuing 
weeks,  and  for  this  angular  and  somewhat  worn 
middle-aged  woman  Adelle  began  to  have  the  first 
real  passion  of  her  life.  She  was  putty  in  her  hands 
for  a  time  and  obeyed  her  slightest  suggestion.  In 
stead  of  curbing  Adelle's  tendency  to  extravagance, 
the  mistress  of  the  Villa  Ponitowski  encouraged  it, 
partly  for  her  own  gratification  and  partly  to  serve 
warning  upon  the  trust  officer.  Mr.  Crane  might 
well  wonder  where  Adelle  put  the  money  she  drew; 
he  would  have  been  amazed  if  he  could  have  known 
the  ingenious  ways  which  Miss  Comstock  found 
for  improving  her  opportunity.  In  all  the  years 
that  she  had  pursued  her  parasitic  occupation,  she 
had  never  had  such  a  free  chance,  and  she  began 
to  dream  ambitiously  of  appropriating  Adelle  and 
Clark's  Field  for  life. 

With  Pussy's  approval  Adelle  bought  another 
motor,  a  high-powered  touring-car,  and  she  kept 
besides  several  saddle-horses  for  use  in  the  Bois.  She 
generously  assumed  the  entire  rent  of  Miss  Baxter's 
expensive  studio  when  that  imprudent  artist  found 
herself  in  difficulties;  but  that  comes  a  little  later. 
Adelle  defrayed  all  the  expenses  of  the  Nile  trip 
which  Miss  Comstock  made  with  her  family  this 
winter.  These  are  a  few  instances  of  the  spending 
habit,  but  the  great  leak  was  the  constant  wasteful 
ness  to  which  Adelle  was  becoming  accustomed.  She 
spent  a  lot  of  money  merely  for  the  sake  of  spending 

185 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

it,  buying  nothings  of  all  sorts  to  give  away  or  throw 
away.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  penurious  years  of  the 
Clarks  were  now  being  revenged  in  one  long  prodi 
gal  draft  by  this  last  representative  of  their  line. 
The  magic  lamp  responded  admirably  each  time 
Adelle  rubbed  it  by  simply  writing  her  name  upon 
a  slip  of  paper  at  the  banker's.  She  had  a  child's 
curiosity  to  find  out  the  limits  of  its  marvelous  power, 
and  daringly  increased  her  demands  upon  it.  Pos 
sibly  if  Miss  Comstock's  designs  had  carried,  she 
might  have  discovered  this  limit  within  a  few  years: 
but  her  fate  was  shaping  otherwise. 

Meantime  her  little  "affair"  with  the  banker  ex 
cited  the  other  girls  in  the  family,  who  felt  that  the 
rich  young  heiress  must  encounter  many  wonderful 
adventures  in  love.  Adelle  was  initiated  in  the  great 
theme,  and  for  the  first  time  began  to  take  an  in 
terest  in  men.  Perhaps  Mr.  Ashly  Crane's  crude 
love-making  had  broken  down  certain  inhibitions 
in  the  girl's  passive  nature,  had  overcome  an  in 
stinctive  repugnance  to  sex  encounters.  The  path 
of  the  next  wooer  would  doubtless  be  easier.  But 
that  lucky  man  did  not  put  in  an  appearance.  Miss 
Comstock  jealously  guarded  the  approaches  to  her 
treasure  with  greater  discretion  than  ever  before. 
She  made  no  effort  to  prepare  for  her  an  alliance 
with  an  impecunious  scion  of  the  minor  Continental 
nobility  such  as  she  arranged  later  for  Sadie  Paul. 
She  said  that  she  could  think  of  no  one  good  enough 
for  her  dear  Adelle,  and  anyway  the  girl  was  alto- 

186 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

gether  too  young  to  think  of  marrying  —  another 
year  would  be  ample  time.  So  Adelle  was  confined 
to  the  younger  brothers  and  friends  of  her  com 
panions,  who  turned  up  in  Paris  at  different  times, 
and  upon  these  she  tried  timidly  her  powers  of  charm 
with  no  great  success.  Apparently  she  was  content 
to  remain  without  "beaux."  Luxury  had  made  her 
indolent,  and  her  days  were  full  of  petty  occupations 
that  distract  the  spirit.  Yet  at  times  she  felt  a  vague 
emptiness  in  her  life  which  she  soon  found  means 
of  filling  in  an  unsuspected  manner. 

Adelle's  interest  in  the  art  of  jewelry  had  not 
ceased,  but  she  was  away  from  Paris  this  second 
year  so  much  that  her  work  in  Miss  Baxter's  studio 
had  been  sadly  interrupted.  After  her  return  from 
the  Nile  in  March,  however,  she  developed  anew  her 
passion  for  making  pins  and  chains  and  rings,  and 
spent  long  afternoons  in  the  studio  on  the  Rue  de 
l'Universit£.  Miss  Comstock  thought  nothing  of 
these  absences;  indeed,  was  relieved  to  have  Adelle 
so  harmlessly  and  elegantly  employed.  It  is  true 
that  Adelle  was  working  in  the  studio,  but  she  was 
working  under  a  new  tutelage.  A  fellow-townsman 
of  Miss  Baxter's  had  turned  up  in  Paris  that  autumn 
and  frequented  her  studio  as  the  only  place  where  he 
could  be  sure  of  a  welcome,  warmth,  and  an  occa 
sional  cup  of  tea.  This  young  Calif ornian,  Archie 
Davis  by  name,  had  found  his  way  to  Paris  as  the 
traditional  home  of  the  arts,  and  expected  to  make 
himself  famous  as  a  painter.  A  graduate  of  the  State 

•187 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

University,  he  had  been  engaged  by  his  father  in 
vine  culture  on  the  sunny  slopes  of  Santa  Rosa,  but 
the  life  of  a  California  wine-grower  had  not  appealed 
to  him.  From  the  slopes  of  Santa  Rosa  he  soon 
drifted  to  San  Francisco,  and  there  conceived  of  him 
self  as  a  painter.  He  was  a  large,  vigorous,  rather 
common  young  Calif ornian,  with  reddish  hair  and 
a  slightly  freckled  face,  who  was  really  at  home  on 
horseback  in  the  wilds  of  his  native  land,  but  at  a 
loss  on  the  streets  of  Paris  where  he  found  himself 
frequently  without  much  money.  Viticulture  was 
not  paying  well  at  this  time  in  California,  and 
Archie's  father,  in  cutting  down  expenses  all  around, 
chose  to  begin  with  Archie,  who  had  not  done  any 
thing  to  assist  the  family  fortunes.  Archie  took  it 
good-naturedly  and  kept  usually  cheerful,  though 
seedy  and  often  hungry.  He  felt  that  his  was  the 
typical  story  of  the  artist,  and  if  he  would  only 
persist,  in  spite  of  poverty  and  discouragement,  he 
must  ultimately  become  a  great  painter  because  of 
his  discomfiture. 

"They  can't  freeze  me  out!"  was  a  common  say 
ing  on  his  lips,  given  with  a  toss  of  the  head  and  a 
smiling  face  which  made  an  impression  upon  women. 
Also  his  whistling  philosophy,  phrased  as,  "You 
never  know  your  luck!" 

Miss  Baxter,  who  had  no  great  confidence  in  his 
ability,  was  kind  to  Archie  Davis  for  the  sake  of 
California,  where  she  had  known  his  people,  and 
because  a  single  woman,  no  matter  what  her  kind  or 

188 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

condition  may  be,  likes  to  have  some  man  within 
call.  Adelle  met  him,  as  she  met  dozens  of  other 
men,  in  the  easy  intimacy  of  the  studio.  At  first  she 
did  not  regard  him  nor  he  her.  Sadie  Paul,  who  hap 
pened  to  be  present  at  the  time,  pronounced  him 
a  "bounder,"  which  made  no  great  impression  upon 
Adelle,  any  more  than  had  Miss  Comstock's  "cad" 
for  the  banker.  It  was  not  until  she  had  settled  in 
Paris  for  the  spring  and  was  a  fairly  regular  worker 
in  the  studio  that  Archie  began  to  play  a  part  in  her 
life. 

It  is  easy  to  see  why  they  should  draw  together. 
Adelle,  thanks  to  all  the  accessories  that  her  money 
provided,  presented  a  radiant  and  rare  vision  to  the 
young  Calif ornian,  who  knew  only  women  like  Cor 
nelia  Baxter  —  mere  workers  —  or  the  more  vulgar 
intimacies  of  the  streets  and  cafes.  Adelle  Clark  did 
not  resemble  even  the  sturdy  California  lassies  with 
whom  he  had  been  a  favorite  on  the  university 
campus.  With  her  motors  and  gowns  and  jewels  she 
was  the  exotic,  the  privileged  goddess  of  wealth.  To 
her  Archie  was  at  first  mere  Boy,  then  Youth.  His 
seedy  state  did  not  disturb  her.  Though  dainty  in 
habit,  she  had  not  become  delicate  in  instinct. 
And  Archie's  "freshness"  amused  her,  his  casual 
familiarity  of  the  sort  that  exclaimed,  while  he  fin 
gered  a  bit  of  her  handiwork,  —  "Say, girlie,  but  that 
is  a  peach  of  a  ring!  ...  Is  it  for  Some  One  now?" 

She  laughed  at  his  "freshness,"  and  felt  perfectly 
at  home  with  him.    It  was  not  until  after  several 

189 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

weeks  of  this  acquaintanceship  that  the  affair 
developed,  unexpectedly,  the  opportunity  being 
given. 

One  rainy  April  afternoon  when  Adelle  arrived  at 
the  studio  she  found  it  empty  except  for  the  presence 
of  Archie  Davis,  who  was  dozing  on  the  divan  in 
front  of  the  small  stove.  Adelle  had  come  briskly  up 
the  stairs  from  her  car,  and  the  ride  through  the  damp 
air  had  given  her  pale  cheeks  some  color.  She  threw 
back  her  long  coat,  revealing  a  rose-colored  bodice 
that  made  her  quite  pretty.  Then  the  two  discovered 
themselves  alone  in  the  big  studio.  Adelle  had  a 
faint  consciousness  of  the  fact,  but  supposing  that 
Miss  Baxter  would  return,  she  tossed  aside  her  wrap 
and  with  a  mere  "Hello,  Archie!"  went  over  to  the 
corner  where  on  a  small  bench  she  was  wont  to 
pound  and  chisel  and  twist. 

"Say,  but  you  look  good  enough  to  eat!"  the 
youth  remarked  appreciatively. 

Adelle  laughed  at  the  compliment. 

"Why  are  you  always  thinking  of  eating?"  she 
asked. 

"I  guess  because  a  good  meal  don't  often  come 
my  way,"  he  yawned  in  reply. 

Adelle  wanted  to  find  out  why  this  was  so,  but 
could  not  frame  her  question  to  her  satisfaction. 
Archie  happened  to  be  in  one  of  those  rare  moments 
of  melancholy  introspection  when  he  doubted  even 
his  divine  calling  to  art.  He  was  really  hungry  and 
somewhat  cold,  and  life  did  not  seem  inviting. 

190 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"I  don't  know,"  he  observed  after  a  time,  "as 
this  art  game  is  all  it  looks  to  be  from  a  distance  — 
that  is,"  he  added,  watching  Adelle  with  apprecia 
tive  eyes,  "unless  you  happen  to  have  the  dough  to 
support  it  on  the  side." 

"Aren't  you  painting?"  Adelle  asked  after  an 
other  pause. 

"Nope!" 

"Why  not?" 

"I  can't  paint  when  I'm  feeling  bad." 

"What's  the  matter?"  .  .  . 

According  to  the  novelists  love-making — "the 
approach  of  the  sexes  "  —  is  an  affair  of  infinite  pre 
cision  and  fine  intention;  but  according  to  nature, 
at  least  in  those  less  self-conscious  circles  wherein  are 
found  the  vast  majority,  it  is  one  of  the  casual  and 
apparently  aimless  forms  of  human  contact.  For  a 
good  hour  these  two  played  the  ancient  game,  but 
the  movements,  the  articulate  ones,  at  least,  were  of 
the  last  degree  of  banality  and  insignificance  —  too 
trivial  to  recite  even  here. 

That  consciousness  of  being  alone  with  a  young 
man,  which  had  come  over  Adelle  on  her  entrance, 
developed  gradually  into  a  pleasant  sense  of  intimacy 
with  Archie.  Miss  Baxter  did  not  come  back  to  make 
the  tea,  as  she  usually  did  at  this  hour.  Adelle  was 
acutely  aware  that  the  young  man  had  counted  on 
getting  this  tea  and  really  needed  the  nourishment. 
She  wanted  to  give  him  food,  to  be  kind  to  him.  At 
last  she  ventured  to  suggest,  —  "Don't  you  know 

191 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

some  place  around  here  where  we  could  get  some 
thing  to  eat?  I  guess  Miss  Baxter  is  n't  coming  back 
this  afternoon." 

Archie  instantly  rose  to  the  suggestion:  he  knew 
all  the  restaurants  within  the  radius  of  two  miles. 
And  so,  escorted  by  the  young  man,  Adelle  wras  soon 
entering  a  discreet  small  cafe,  where,  after  infinite 
conversation  with  the  proprietor,  a  tepid  concoction 
was  served  with  some  excellent  small  cakes.  Adelle 
then  had  one  of  the  purest  joys  of  her  existence  in 
watching  the  gusto  with  which  the  young  Califor- 
nian  dispatched  his  tea  and  cakes  even  to  the  last 
crumbs  of  the  brioche.  She  wanted  to  ask  him  to  dine 
with  her  somewhere,  but  did  not  dare.  In  time  they 
went  back  to  the  studio,  which  was  now  dark  and 
still  deserted,  and  after  puttering  for  another  half- 
hour  Adelle  departed  in  her  car  for  the  Villa  Ponitow- 
ski.  Nothing  more  momentous  than  what  has  been 
related  happened,  but  both  felt  profoundly  that  some 
thing  had  happened.  Archie,  less  daring  or  more  skill 
ful  than  his  predecessor,  did  not  press  his  advan 
tage, —  did  not  even  ask  to  accompany  the  girl  home, 
—  and  Adelle  was  left  with  the  happy  illusion  of  a 
mysterious  human  interest. 


XXII 

AT  last  Adelle  had  a  young  man !  He  was  not  much 
of  a  young  man  in  the  eyes  of  Miss  Comstock  or 
Irene  Paul,  perhaps,  but  Adelle  did  not  care  for  that. 
Incipient  love  awoke  in  the  girl  all  her  latent  power 
of  guile.  This  time  she  did  not  "give  herself  away" 
to  "  Pussy  "  nor  to  her  companions,  knowing  instinc 
tively  that  her  toy  would  be  taken  away  from  her  if 
it  was  discovered.  For  two  months  she  managed 
almost  daily  meetings  with  Archie  Davis  without 
arousing  the  suspicion  of  any  one,  except  possibly 
Miss  Baxter,  who  did  not  consider  the  matter  seri 
ously.  When  late  in  May  Miss  Comstock  took  it  into 
her  head  to  motor  to  Italy  for  a  trip  to  the  Lakes  and 
Venice,  Adelle  tried  her  best  to  escape,  but  failed. 
She  departed  sulkily,  and  managed  to  scrawl  a  letter 
and  post  it  privately  almost  every  day.  Each  mile 
that  bore  her  farther  from  Paris  filled  her  heart  with 
gloom,  and  she  made  mad  plans  of  escape.  Her  emo 
tions  having  at  last  been  stirred  dominated  her  ex 
clusively.  She  wanted  Archie  every  moment.  She 
wrote  him  to  meet  the  party,  casually,  somewhere. 
But  Archie,  alas,  was  altogether  too  poor  to  follow 
his  lady  about  Europe.  She  would  have  sent  him 
the  money  for  the  journey  if  she  had  known  how  to 
do  it.  Instead,  she  sent  him  picture  postcards  of 

193 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  monuments  of  southern  France  and  northern 
Italy. 

It  was  in  Venice  one  languid  afternoon  in  early 
June,  as  she  was  coming  out  from  Cook's,  where  she 
had  been  to  get  her  mail,  that  she  heard  her  name, 
—  "Adelle!  .  .  .  Miss  Clark,"  —  and  looking  around 
discovered  her  lover  leaning  against  a  pillar  of  the 
piazza.  He  had  somehow  found  the  means  to  follow 
her,  arriving  that  morning  by  the  third-class  train, 
and  had  hung  around  the  piazza,  confident  that  the 
girl  must  appear  in  this  center  of  civic  activity. 
They  at  once  took  to  a  gondola  as  the  safest  method 
of  privacy.  And  it  was  in  this  gondola,  behind 
the  little  black  curtains  of  the  felza,  that  Adelle  re 
ceived  her  second  kiss  from  the  lips  of  a  man.  But 
this  time  due  preparation  had  been  made:  the  kiss 
was  neither  unexpected  nor  undesired,  and  on  her 
part,  at  least,  the  embrace  had  all  the  fervor  of 
nature. 

As  they  floated  out  upon  the  still  waters  of  the  la 
goon  beyond  the  lonely  hospital,  with  the  translu 
cent  silver  haze  of  the  magic  city  hanging  above 
them,  Adelle  felt  that  heaven  had  been  thrust  un 
expectedly  into  her  arms.  This  was  something  far 
beyond  the  magic  touch  of  her  lamp,  and  all  the 
sweeter  because  it  came  to  her  as  a  personal  gift, 
independent  of  her  fortune.  At  least  she  felt  so.  It 
is  permissible  to  doubt  if  Archie  Davis  would  have 
been  sufficiently  stirred  by  a  penniless  girl  to  have 
spent  his  recent  remittance  in  chasing  her  to  Italy, 

194 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

but  such  fine  discriminations  about  young  love  are 
cruel.  Sufficient  for  them  both,  in  these  gray  and 
golden  hours  of  the  June  afternoon  in  Venice,  that 
they  had  come  together.  In  time  Adelle  learned  just 
how  the  miracle  had  been  worked.  Father  Davis's 
remittance  to  take  his  son  back  to  the  ranch  had  at 
last  arrived  with  a  rather  acid  letter  of  parental  in 
structions  from  the  wine-grower.  Archie  with  the 
true  recklessness  of  youth  had  torn  the  letter  to 
shreds  and  cashed  the  draft,  purchased  a  third-class 
ticket  for  Venice,  and  put  almost  all  that  was  left 
of  the  money  into  a  much-needed  suit  of  clothes. 
And  now? 

Adelle,  with  an  unexpected  acuteness,  felt  that 
Archie  even  in  his  present  rehabilitated  condition 
would  be  an  object  of  suspicion  to  the  keen  eyes  of 
Pussy  Comstock,  whom  she  was  beginning  to  find 
troublesome.  And  she  felt  quite  inadequate  to  ex 
plaining  Archie  plausibly.  So  it  was  decided  be 
tween  the  lovers  before  the  gondola  returned  to  the 
city  that  they  should  meet  clandestinely  while  the 
party  remained  in  Venice.  It  was  the  family  habit 
to  take  prolonged  siestas  after  the  second  breakfast, 
when  Adelle  would  be  free  to  slip  forth  and  join 
Archie  in  the  cool  recesses  of  a  neighboring  church. 
Other  opportunity  might  arise.  Young  love  is  con 
tent  with  little  —  or  thinks  it  will  be.  They  parted 
with  a  final  kiss,  and  Adelle  thoughtfully  paid  the 
boatmen  when  they  landed  at  the  piazzetta. 

There  followed  for  one  week  the  most  exciting  and 
195 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  most  taxing  episode  in  Adelle's  small  existence. 
She  never  had  time  for  naps  or  odd  moments  of  in 
dolent  nothings.  In  spite  of  the  languorous  heat, 
she  became  alert  and  schemed  all  her  waking  mo 
ments  how  best  to  make  time  for  Archie.  After  a 
few  days  she  bribed  her  maid  so  that  she  could  get 
out  of  the  hotel  to  a  gondola  after  the  others  had 
gone  to  their  rooms  for  the  night.  It  was  all  a  piece 
of  pure  recklessness,  and  Adelle  was  hardly  adept 
enough  to  have  carried  it  on  long  without  detection. 
Fortunately,  Miss  Comstock  was  much  occupied 
with  some  important  English  people,  for  whose  sake 
she  had  really  dragged  the  party  down  to  Venice. 
And  for  seven  days  Adelle  spent  rapturous  hours 
behind  the  black  curtains  of  a  gondola,  varied  by 
hardly  less  exciting  hours  of  planning  to  bring  her 
joy  once  more  to  her  lips.  Then  Miss  Comstock's 
English  friends  departed  and  the  family  set  out  for 
the  North.  They  went  by  the  International  and 
Archie  followed  more  slowly  by  the  omnibus.  He 
overtook  the  party  at  Lucerne,  but  Lucerne  is  not 
as  well  adapted  as  Venice  for  the  shy  retreats  of 
love.  They  were  content  to  return  to  Paris,  where 
they  imagined  their  liberty  would  be  less  circum 
scribed.  .  .  . 

It  was  at  Lucerne  that  Adelle's  lover  demanded 
rather  brusquely  why  she  was  "so  mortal  scared  of 
the  schoolma'am?"  Was  she  not  a  young  woman 
of  nineteen  and  of  independent  means,  without  the 
annoying  necessity  of  consulting  her  parents  in  her 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

choice  of  a  lover?  This  put  it  into  Adelle's  mind 
that  in  the  last  resort  she  might  defy  Pussy  and  have 
her  precious  one  all  to  herself  in  untrammeled  free 
dom  —  in  other  words,  marry  Archie.  But  she  was 
really  afraid  of  Miss  Comstock,  and  also  doubtful  of 
what  her  guardian,  the  trust  company,  might  do  to 
her.  For  the  present  she  was  content,  or  nearly  so, 
with  what  she  had,  and  was  not  thinking  much  about 
marriage.  Her  lover  must  be  satisfied  with  stolen 
moments  and  secret  meetings  in  public  places,  with 
an  occasional  kiss. 

Marriage  was  really  the  only  solution,  and  Archie 
knew  it.  If  Adelle  had  not  been  possessed  of  such 
a  very  large  golden  spoon,  the  whole  affair  might 
have  resulted  differently  and  more  disastrously. 
But  her  fortune  both  endangered  and  protected  her. 
For  Archie  was  no  worse  and  no  better  than  many  a 
young  man  of  his  antecedents  and  condition.  It  is, 
perhaps,  to  be  doubted  if  he  would  have  contented 
himself  indefinitely  with  innocent  love-making,  if 
the  girl  had  not  been  so  far  removed  from  him  in 
estate.  ...  He  meant  to  marry  Adelle  when  he 
could,  which  meant  as  soon  as  it  would  be  safe  for 
her  to  marry.  That  might  not  be  for  another  two 
years,  until  she  was  mistress  of  herself  in  law  and  of 
her  fortune. 

Shortly  after  their  return  to  Paris,  the  "home  "  at 
Neuilly  was  closed  for  the  summer  and  the  family 
went  to  Etretat  to  occupy  a  villa  that  Adelle  had 
leased  previous  to  her  infatuation.  There  seemed  no 

197 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

way  of  escaping  Etretat  without  betraying  her  real 
reasons.  She  said  something  about  staying  on  in  Paris 
through  June  to  work  in  the  studio,  but  Pussy  firmly 
closed  the  house  and  shipped  the  servants  to  Adelle's 
villa.  If  she  only  had  not  chosen  Etretat,  she  wailed 
to  Archie,  but  some  nearer  Normandy  watering-place 
from  which  she  might  have  motored  up  to  Paris  on 
one  excuse  or  another  and  thus  had  glimpses  of  her 
lover!  He  must  come  to  Etretat.  But  Archie  was 
again  without  funds,  living  on  the  bounty  of  a  hos 
pitable  fellow-countryman.  After  a  fortnight  of 
loneliness  beside  the  sea,  Adelle  invented  an  elabo 
rate  pretext  to  return  to  Paris,  but  Miss  Comstock 
insisted  on  accompanying  her  and  stuck  so  closely 
to  her  side  during  three  hot  days  that  there  was  no 
chance  for  a  sight  of  Archie.  At  last  Adelle  was 
sulkily  dragged  back  to  Etretat.  Then  she  asked 
Miss  Baxter  to  visit  her  and  induced  that  good-na 
tured  young  woman  to  send  Archie  a  sufficient  sum 
of  money,  as  coming  from  an  admirer  of  his  art,  to 
enable  him  to  take  up  his  residence  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  Miss  Baxter  demurred  over  "  giving  him  such 
a  head, ' '  but  finally  was  persuaded.  Archie  Davis  was 
probably  more  surprised  than  ever  before  in  his  life 
to  learn  that  one  of  his  loose  efforts  on  canvas  had 
so  impressed  an  American  amateur  of  the  arts  that 
the  latter  had  given  Miss  Baxter  a  five-hundred- 
dollar  check  for  him  and  an  order  for  a  seascape 
from  the  Brittany  shore.  Behold  Archie  established 
at  Pluydell  in  a  picturesque  thatched  cottage  with 

198 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

his  easel  and  paint-box!  Pluydell  is  on  the  road  from 
Etretat  to  Fecamp,  and  not  over  ten  minutes'  ride 
in  a  swift  motor-car  from  the  villa  that  Adelle  oc 
cupied. 

The  young  man  painted  intermittently  during 
August,  and  Adelle  discovered  a  mad  passion  for 
driving  her  new  runabout  alone,  which  her  friends 
naturally  voted  quite  " piggy"  in  her.  If  she  was 
occasionally  bullied  into  taking  a  companion  with 
her,  she  drove  the  car  so  recklessly  around  the 
roughest  country  lanes  that  the  friend  never  asked 
for  another  chance  to  ride  with  her.  And  thus  she 
was  free  many  times  to  make  the  dash  over  the  fa 
miliar  bit  of  chalk  road,  leave  her  car  beneath  the 
yellow  rose-vine  that  covered  the  cottage,  and  walk 
across  the  sand  to  that  particular  corner  of  the  wide 
beach  where  the  young  American  had  established 
himself  with  umbrella  and  painting  tools.  .  .  . 

What  did  they  do  with  themselves  all  the  hours 
that  Adelle  contrived  to  snatch  for  her  Archie?  First 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  kissing.  Adelle  grew  fonder 
of  this  emotional  expression  as  she  became  accus 
tomed  to  it,  and  sometimes  rather  wearied  Archie 
with  her  tenderness.  Then  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
affectionate  fondling,  rumpling  his  red  hair,  pulling 
his  clothes  and  tie  into  place,  criticizing  his  appear 
ance  and  health.  Adelle  when  she  was  at  the  doll 
age  never  had  had  a  chance  for  these  things,  and 
now  all  her  woman's  instincts  began  to  bloom  at 
once.  She  wanted  to  dress  and  care  for  her  treasure 

199 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  deluged  him  with  small  trinkets,  many  of  them 
made  by  her  own  somewhat  bungling  hands.  After 
these  more  intimate  desires  had  been  gratified, 
Adelle  might  take  a  critical  look  at  the  canvas  over 
which  Archie  was  dawdling  and  pronounce  it 
"pretty"  or  "odd,"  or  ask  what  it  was  meant  to 
be.  Then  throwing  herself  down  on  the  sand  or  turf 
and  pulling  her  broad  straw  hat  over  her  face  she 
prepared  for  ''talk."  "Talk"  consisted  mostly  of 
question  and  answer, — 

"Where  did  you  go  last  night?" 

"Casino." 

"Whom  did  you  see  at  the  casino?" 

"Same  crowd." 

"Did  you  play?" 

"Just  a  little." 

"Did  you  win?" 

"Yep!" 

"Much?" 

"A  couple  of  plunks,"  etc. 

Or,— 

"Did  Pussy  catch  you  last  night?" 

"No!  Never  said  a  word." 

"Who  was  the  man  you  were  walking  with?" 

"Oh,  that  little  man  with  the  glasses  — he's  a, 
friend  of  Pussy's,  English." 

Perhaps  as  follows,  — 

"Pussy  is  talking  of  our  all  going  to  India  next 
winter." 

"India;  — what  for?" 

200 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

4 'She  always  wants  to  go  some  place." 

"You  are  n't  going  to  India?"    (Lover's  alarms.) 

"Of  course  I  shan't!" 

One  easily  might  undervalue  Adelle's  passion, 
however,  if  it  were  judged  solely  by  its  intellectual 
quality.  The  beauty  and  the  wonder  of  passion  is 
that  it  cannot  be  weighed  by  any  mental  scales,  its 
terms  are  not  transferable.  Adelle's  share  of  the 
universal  mystery,  in  spite  of  the  banality  of  its  ex 
pression,  may  have  been  as  great  as  any  woman's 
who  ever  lived.  At  least  it  filled  her  being  and  swept 
her  to  unexpected  heights  of  feeling  and  power. 

She  was  completely  happy  at  this  time,  but  Archie 
after  the  first  days  was  restless  and  somewhat  bored. 
There  were  long  periods  when  he  could  neither  make 
love  nor  paint,  and  he  took  to  spending  his  idle  even 
ings  at  the  Casino,  which  was  not  good  for  his  slen 
der  purse.  As  the  weeks  passed  and  their  ruses 
seemed  successful,  the  two  grew  more  reckless  and 
indulged  in  flying  expeditions  about  the  country 
roads  in  Adelle's  little  car.  One  evening,  as  they 
were  returning  in  the  sunset  glow  from  a  long  jaunt 
down  the  coast,  Adelle  at  the  wheel  and  Archie's  arm 
encircling  her  waist,  they  came  plump  upon  Irene 
Paul  and  Pussy  Comstock  in  a  hired  motor.  Adelle 
stiffened  and  threw  on  high  speed.  They  dashed 
past  in  a  whirl  of  dust,  but  the  Paul  girl's  eyes  met 
Adelle's.  She  felt  sure  of  Irene,  and  hoped  that 
Pussy  had  not  recognized  them.  But  they  must  be 
more  careful  in  the  future.  If  Pussy  found  out  — 

201 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

well,  they  must  "do  something."    This  time  she 
should  n't  be  deprived  of  Archie.    Never! 

Adelle  dressed  slowly,  revolving  in  her  mind  what 
she  should  say  to  Irene,  who  had  called  Archie  a 
"bounder,"  and  descended  to  the  salon  where  the 
family  were  waiting  for  her.  Nothing  was  said  until 
they  were  seated  at  the  dinner-table.  Irene  obsti 
nately  kept  her  eyes  away  and  Adelle  felt  troubled. 
Suddenly  Miss  Comstock,  looking  across  the  table 
with  her  penetrating  smile,  asked  sweetly,  — 
"  Don't  you  find  it  difficult  to  drive  as  you  were  this 
afternoon,  Adelle?" 

Like  all  clumsy  persons  Adelle  lied  and  lied  badly. 
She  had  not  been  on  the  road  since  she  took  Eveline 
to  the  Casino.  Pussy  must  have  been  mistaken. 
Miss  Comstock  did  not  press  the  point,  but  Irene 
Paul  looked  at  Adelle  and  smiled  wickedly.  Adelle 
knew  that  she  had  been  betrayed  and  her  heart  sank. 
Presently  Miss  Comstock  began  to  talk  about  the 
red-haired  artist  who  was  living  in  a  picturesque  cot 
tage  out  on  the  Pluydell  road.  A  very  ordinary 
young  American,  she  observed  cuttingly.  Had  the 
girls  seen  him  sketching?  Adelle  knew  that  the 
blood  was  mounting  to  her  pale  face,  and  she  bent 
her  head  over  her  food.  The  end  had  come. 

That  evening  they  went  to  the  Casino  to  hear  the 
music,  and  by  chance  Archie  was  there,  too,  and 
threw  self-conscious  glances  towards  their  table. 
Between  the  soothing  strains  of  Franz  Lehr,  Pussy 
whispered  into  Adelle 's  ear,  — 

202 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Why  don't  you  bow  to  your  young  friend?  He 
looks  as  if  he  wanted  to  join  us." 

Adelle  gazed  at  her  tormentor  pitifully,  but  said 
nothing.  The  rest  of  the  evening  she  sat  in  cold  mis 
ery  trying  to  think  what  might  happen,  resolved 
that  in  any  case  the  worst  should  not  happen:  she 
would  not  lose  her  Archie.  She  returned  to  the  villa 
in  dumb  pain  to  await  in  her  room  the  expected  visit. 
She  did  not  even  undress,  preferring  to  be  ready  for 
instant  action.  Soon  there  was  a  knock  and  Pussy 
entered.  She  was  in  her  dressing-gown  and  looked 
formidable  and  unlovely  to  the  girl. 

"Adelle,"  she  said  with  a  sneer,  sitting  down  be 
fore  the  fire,  "I  thought  you  knew  too  much  to  do 
this  sort  of  thing." 

Adelle  was  silent. 

"And  such  a  common  bounder,  too!" 

It  was  Irene  Paul's  opprobrious  epithet,  which 
Adelle  was  beginning  to  comprehend.  She  winced, 
but  made  no  reply. 

"You  might  easily  get  yourself  into  serious  trou 
ble,  my  dear,  with  a  man  like  that." 

Adelle  cowered  under  the  stings  of  her  lash  and 
said  nothing. 

"I  shall  write  the  young  man  to-morrow  that  if 
he  wants  to  see  you  he  had  better  pay  his  visits 
here,"  she  said  tolerantly.  "This  is  your  house  — 
you  can  see  him  here,  you  know.  There  are  ways 
and  ways  of  doing  such  things,  my  dear." 

With  a  yawn  and  a  hateful  smile  Pussy  departed. 
203 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

It  was  over,  and  she  was  alive.  At  first  Adelle  felt 
relieved  until  she  pondered  what  it  meant.  Archie 
would  be  exposed  to  the  keen  shafts  of  Pussy's  con 
tempt  and  to  the  girls'  titters  and  snubs.  And 
probably  there  would  be  no  chance  at  all  for  the 
kissing  and  all  the  rest.  It  was  Pussy's  clever  way 
of  effectually  disposing  of  Archie.  She  understood 
that. 

Adelle  stayed  awake  for  several  hours,  a  most  un 
usual  occurrence,  revolving  matters  in  her  confused 
mind.  When  she  could  stand  it  no  longer  she  got  up, 
dressed  herself  carefully  in  her  motoring  dress,  and 
stole  downstairs  through  the  silent  house,  out  to  the 
garage  which  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  garden. 
Eveline's  little  Pomeranian  squeaked  once,  but  did 
not  arouse  the  household.  Adelle  cranked  her  car 
feverishly  and  succeeded  at  last,  after  much  effort, 
in  starting  the  engine  and  in  pushing  back  the  ga 
rage  door.  It  was  by  far  the  most  desperate  step  in 
life  she  had  ever  taken,  and  she  felt  ready  to  faint. 
She  clambered  into  the  car  and  released  the  clutch, 
more  dead  than  alive,  as  she  thought.  With  a  leap 
and  a  whir  she  was  down  the  road  to  Archie's  cot 
tage. 


XXIII 

SAFELY  there  she  felt  more  composed.  Stopping  her 
engine  she  got  out  and  walked  to  the  window  of  the 
room  on  the  ground  floor  that  she  knew  the  young 
Calif ornian  occupied.  It  was  open.  Leaning  through 
the  rose-vine  she  called  faintly,  —  "  Archie !  Archie ! " 
But  the  young  painter  slept  solidly,  and  she  was 
forced  to  take  a  stick  and  poke  the  bunch  of  bed 
clothes  in  the  corner  before  she  could  arouse  the 
sleeping  Archie.  When  he  came  to  the  window,  she 
exclaimed,  — 

" Something  awful  has  happened,  Archie!" 

4 'What's  the  row?" 

"We're  found  out.  Pussy  knows  and  the  girls. 
Irene  told  'em!" 

That  apparently  did  not  seem  to  Archie  the  ulti 
mate  catastrophe  that  it  did  to  her.  He  stood  in  his 
pajamas  beside  the  window,  ungallantly  yawning 
and  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"Well,"  he  observed,  "what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?" 

Doubtless  to  his  masculine  good  sense  it  seemed 
merely  adding  folly  to  folly  thus  to  run  away  from 
the  villa  at  midnight  and  expose  them  to  further 
trouble. 

Adelle  did  not  argue  nor  explain. 
205 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Put  your  clothes  on,"  she  said,  with  consider 
able  decision,  "and  come  out  to  the  car." 

Thereupon  she  went  back  to  the  car,  cranked  it 
afresh,  and  waited  for  him  to  appear.  He  came  out 
of  the  rose-covered  window,  after  a  reasonable  time, 
and  climbed  in  beside  the  girl.  She  seemed  to  expect 
it,  and  there  was  not  anything  else  to  do.  Adelle 
threw  in  the  clutch  and  started  at  a  lively  pace,  turn 
ing  into  the  broad  highroad  which  ran  in  a  straight 
line  southwards  towards  the  French  capital. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Archie  asked,  now 
seriously  awake  and  somewhat  disturbed. 

"I'm  never  going  back  to  that  place  again,"  the 
girl  flamed  resolutely.  "Never!" 

As  if  to  emphasize  avow  she  threw  one  arm  around 
her  lover's  neck  and  drew  his  face  to  hers  so  that  she 
could  kiss  it,  —  a  maneuver  she  executed  at  some 
risk  to  their  safety.  "Oh,  Archie,  I  love  you  so  —  I 
can't  give  you  up!"  she  whispered  by  way  of  ex 
planation. 

He  returned  her  kiss  with  good  will,  though  men 
tally  preoccupied,  and  said,  "Of  course  not,  dear 
est!"  and  continued  to  hold  her  while  she  steered  the 
car,  which  was  traveling  at  a  lively  rate  along  the 
empty  route  nationale  in  the  direction  of  Paris.  And 
thus  they  proceeded  for  mile  after  mile  or  rather  ten 
kilometres  after  ten  kilometres.  Adelle  and  the  car 
seemed  to  be  inspired  by  the  same  energy  and  will. 
Archie  realized  that  they  were  going  rapidly  to  Paris 
and  felt  rather  frightened  at  first.  It  was  one  thing 

206 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  make  love  to  an  heiress  not  yet  of  age,  but  another 
to  elope  with  her  across  France  at  night.  Archie  was 
not  sure,  but  he  thought  there  might  be  legal  com 
plications  in  the  way  of  immediate  matrimony.  He 
might  be  getting  himself  in  for  a  thoroughgoing 
scrape,  which  was  not  much  to  his  liking.  But  there 
seemed  no  way  of  stopping  Adelle  or  the  car. 

For  Adelle  had  no  doubts.  It  was  the  greatest 
night  of  her  life.  She  drove  the  car  recklessly,  but 
splendidly.  Every  now  and  then  she  would  turn 
her  pale  face  to  her  lover  and  say  peremptorily,  — 
"  Kiss  me,  Archie ! "  —  and  Archie  dutifully  gave  the 
kiss,  which  seemed  to  be  all  the  stimulant  she  needed. 

The  wild  rush  through  the  night  beside  her  lover 
appeased  something  within  her.  It  answered  her 
craving  for  romance,  newly  awakened,  for  daring 
and  desperation  and  achievement  of  bliss.  She  felt 
exalted,  proud  of  herself,  as  if  she  were  vindicating 
her  claim  to  character.  To-morrow,  when  Pussy 
Comstock  and  the  girls  found  that  she  had  gone,  they 
would  know  that  she  was  no  weak  fool.  And  by  that 
time,  of  course,  it  would  all  be  over  —  irrevocable. 

"You'll  marry  me  as  soon  as  we  get  there,"  she 
remarked  once  to  Archie  in  exactly  the  same  tone 
as  she  said,  "  Kiss  me,  Archie."  The  young  man 
falteringly  replied,  —  "Of  course,  if  we  can." 

"Of  course  we  can!  Why  not?"  Adelle  replied 
firmly.  "Americans  can  marry  any  time." 

She  felt  sure  that  speedy  marriage  was  an  inalien 
able  right  that  went  with  American  citizenship  to- 

207 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

gether  with  the  privilege  of  getting  divorced  when 
ever  one  cared  to.  Archie  was  by  no  means  so  sure 
of  this  point,  but  he  thought  it  well  not  to  discuss  it 
until  they  both  had  more  exact  information.  So  the 
car  bowled  along  through  the  night  at  a  good  forty 
miles  an  hour. 

Long  before  they  reached  Paris  the  sun  had  come 
up  out  of  the  hot  meadows  along  the  road  and  they 
were  forced  to  stop  at  Chartres  for  petrol  and  break 
fast.  Adelle  wanted  to  cut  the  breakfast  to  a  bowl 
of  hot  coffee,  but  Archie  firmly  insisted  that  they 
must  be  braced  with  food  for  the  ordeal  before  them. 
She  yielded  to  Archie  and  reluctantly  descended 
from  her  seat,  stiff  with  fatigue  but  elated.  After 
breakfast  Archie  suggested  that  they  should  leave 
the  car  at  the  inn  and  proceed  to  Paris  conventionally 
by  train.  But  Adelle  would  not  give  up  one  kilo 
metre  of  her  great  dash  for  liberty  and  Archie.  Nor 
would  she  consider  his  going  on  by  train  to  make 
arrangements  for  the  marriage. 

So  they  resumed  their  rapid  flight,  but  mishaps 
with  tires  began,  and  it  was  noon  before  they  en 
tered  the  Porte  Maillot.  As  they  drove  past  the  Villa 
Ponitowski,  Adelle  looked  furtively  up  at  the  shut 
ters  as  if  she  expected  to  see  Pussy's  severe  face 
lurking  there.  She  guided  the  machine  to  the  Rue 
de  TUniversite  and  stopped  beneath  Miss  Bax 
ter's  studio  windows.  If  Archie  had  proposed  it, 
she  would  have  gone  at  once  to  a  hotel  with  him  and 
registered,  but  he  prudently  suggested  the  studio, 

208 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

where  he  hoped  to  find  Cornelia  Baxter.  But  the 
sculptress  had  gone  away  somewhere,  and  the  big 
room  was  empty  —  also  hot  and  dusty.  They  sat 
down  before  the  fireless  stove  and  looked  at  each 
other. 

Adelle  was  very  tired  and  on  the  verge  of  hysteri 
cal  tears.  Archie  had  not  been  very  efficient  in  the 
tire  trouble.  She  felt  that  now,  at  any  rate,  he  should 
take  hold  of  their  situation  and  manage.  But  Archie 
seemed  helpless,  was  not  at  home  in  the  situation. 
(If  Adelle  had  had  more  experience  she  might  have 
been  chilled  even  now  by  his  conduct  and  managed 
her  life  differently.) 

"  I  'm  so  tired,"  she  moaned,  throwing  herself  down 
on  the  divan.  "Don't  you  love  me,  Archie?" 

Of  course  he  did,  but  he  did  not  offer  to  embrace 
her,  and  she  was  obliged  to  go  over  to  where  he  sat 
in  a  wilted  attitude  and  embrace  him. 

"You  are  mine  now  for  always,"  she  said,  almost 
solemnly. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  as  if  he  did  not  exactly  like 
the  form  in  which  the  sentiment  had  been  expressed. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do?" 

"Get  some  food  first.   I  'm  starved,  are  n't  you?" 

Adelle,  weary  as  she  was,  might  not  consider  food 
as  of  the  first  importance  in  this  crisis,  but  recog 
nizing  Archie's  greater  feebleness,  she  yielded  to  his 
desire  for  refreshment.  So  they  drove  to  Foyot's  and 
consumed  two  hours  more  in  lunching  delectably. 
Archie  seemed  somewhat  aimless  after  dejeuner,, 

209 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

perhaps  he  did  not  know  just  how  to  attack  his  for 
midable  problem.  It  was  Adelle  who  suggested  that 
they  drive  to  her  banker's  and  inquire  how  to  get 
married  in  American  fashion  in  France.  Adelle  felt 
that  bankers  knew  everything.  It  was  a  very  ele 
gant  and  bewildered  young  Frenchman  w^hom  they 
found  alone  in  this  vacation  season  at  the  bank 
which  Adelle  used.  After  he  understood  what  they 
wanted  he  directed  them  to  their  consul.  Adelle 
knew  the  American  consulate  because  she  had  been 
there  to  sign  papers,  and  turned  the  car  into  the 
Avenue  de  1'Opera  with  renewed  hope.  They  stopped 
before  the  building  from  which  the  American  flag 
was  languidly  floating  and  mounted  the  stairs  to  the 
offices.  In  the  further  room,  beyond  the  assortment 
of  deadbeats  that  own  allegiance  to  the  great  Ameri 
can  nation,  was  a  little  Irish  clerk,  who  in  the  ab 
sence  of  the  consul  and  his  chief  assistant  held  up 
the  dignity  of  the  United  States.  He  was  a  polit 
ical  appointee  from  the  great  State  of  Illinois,  and 
after  an  apprenticeship  in  the  City  Hall  of  Chicago 
was  much  more  familiar  with  hasty  matrimony  than 
either  of  the  two  flustered  young  persons  who  de 
manded  his  advice.  To  Adelle's  blunt  salutation, 
"We  want  to  get  married,  please!"  and  then,  as  if 
not  sufficiently  impressive,  —  "Now  —  right  off!" 
he  replied  agreeably,  not  taking  the  time  to  re 
move  the  cigarette  from  his  mouth,  — ' '  Sure !  That 's 
easy." 

And  he  made  it  easy  for  them/  He  found  the  neces- 
210 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

sary  blank  forms  in  an  office  desk  and  filled  them  out 
according  to  the  information  the  couple  gave  him. 
Adelle  in  deference  to  Archie's  scruples  stretched  a 
point  and  made  herself  of  age.  When  the  formalities 
had  been  completed,  the  young  Irishman  called  in 
from  the  outer  office  one  of  the  hangers-on  who  hap 
pened  to  be  a  seedy  minister  of  the  gospel  and  who 
looked  as  if  he  were  in  Paris  by  mistake. 

Thus  almost  before  Archie  knew  it  he  had  taken 
to  himself  Adelle  Clark  as  wife,  the  ceremony  being 
witnessed  by  the  consular  clerk,  —  Morris  McBride 
of  Chicago,  —  and  an  ex-sailor  on  his  way  back  to 
New  York  of  the  name  of  Harrington.  Adelle  distrib 
uted  the  remaining  pieces  of  gold  in  her  purse  in  the 
way  of  pour-boires,  and  then  the  two  found  them 
selves  in  the  runabout  on  the  Avenue  de  1'Opera  — 
married. 

"  I  did  n't  know  it  could  be  done  so  easily,"  Archie 
observed  breathlessly. 

"  Anything  can  be  done  when  you  want  to,  if  you 
have  the  money,"  Adelle  replied,  evincing  how 
thoroughly  she  had  mastered  the  philosophy  of  the 
magic  lamp. 

' '  And  what  shall  we  do  now  ? ' '  her  husband  inquired. 

(They  say  that  in  marriage  the  first  trivial  events 
are  significant  of  what  will  happen  thereafter,  like 
straws  upon  the  stream  betraying  which  way  the 
current  flows.  Possibly  Archie's  question  indicates 
the  quality  of  this  marriage,  also  the  fact  that  pres 
ently  Adelle  set  their  course.) 

211 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

The  consular  clerk,  judging  that  his  compatriots 
were  affluent,  had  hinted  at  the  propriety  of  a  wed 
ding  feast  at  the  Cafe  de  Paris;  but  Adelle,  who 
hated  dinners,  vetoed  the  suggestion.  Archie  was  for 
returning  unsentimentally  to  the  empty  studio  for 
their  wedding  night,  as  they  were  short  of  cash  and 
it  was  after  banking  hours.  But  Adelle  had  not 
dashed  madly  across  half  of  France  in  the  night  to 
spend  the  first  hours  of  her  honeymoon  in  a  dusty, 
hot  studio  on  the  Rue  de  TUniversite.  She  turned 
the  car  into  the  great  Avenue  and  swept  on  past  the 
Arch,  through  the  Bois,  out  into  the  open  country. 
Ultimately  the  lack  of  petrol  stopped  them  at  a  little 
wayside  cabaret  some  miles  outside  of  the  fortifica 
tions,  where,  too  exhausted  to  proceed  farther,  they 
decided  to  spend  the  night. 


XXIV 

FORTUNATELY  Adelle  was  not  of  an  imaginative 
habit  of  mind.  She  rarely  envisaged  with  keenness 
anything  of  the  future,  and  thus  escaped  many  of 
the  perplexities  and  annoyances  of  life,  with  some 
of  its  pleasures.  Hers  was  always  a  single  road,  — 
from  desire  to  the  gratification  of  desire,  —  as  it  had 
been  with  Archie.  Thus  far  her  nature  had  devel 
oped  few  disturbing  impulses,  which  accounts  for 
the  simple,  not  to  say  dull,  character  of  her  story  up 
to  the  present.  Even  the  supreme  desire  of  woman's 
heart  had  come  to  her  in  a  commonplace  way  and 
had  been  fulfilled  precipitately,  as  the  desires  of  the 
untutored  usually  are,  but  uncomplexly.  As  she 
fondly  contemplated  her  husband  the  next  morning, 
she  did  not  realize  that  in  one  swift  day  she  had  ac 
complished  the  main  drama  of  her  existence  and 
henceforth  must  be  content  with  the  humdrum 
course  of  life.  Archie  was  scarcely  more  concerned 
with  mental  complexities. 

"Won't  Pussy  Comstock  be  jarred!"  was  about 
the  depth  of  his  reaction  to  the  momentous  step  they 
had  taken. 

Adelle  smiled  a  wary  smile  in  answer:  she  distinctly 
enjoyed  having  both  outwitted  Pussy  and  escaped 
the  bother  of  opposition  to  her  desires  and  the  shafts 

213 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

of  ridicule.  She  stroked  her  master's  bright  red  hair 
and  kissed  him  again.  They  felt  very  well  content 
with  themselves  this  morning.  Archie  certainly 
ought  to  have  congratulated  himself.  He  had  a 
young  wife,  who  loved  him  to  distraction  and  who 
was  extremely  well-to-do,  and,  moreover,  had  no 
inconvenient  relatives  to  "cut  up  ugly"  over  her 
imprudent  step.  There  was  only  a  trust  company 
to  reckon  with,  and  what  can  a  trust  company  do 
when  it  feels  fussed  and  aggrieved?  .  .  . 

After  a  leisurely  breakfast  and  more  love-making 
under  the  plane  trees  in  the  little  garden  behind  the 
inn,  the  pair  had  to  reckon  with  fact.  They  must  get 
some  money  at  once:  they  had  only  enough  loose 
silver  in  their  two  purses  to  pay  the  modest  charges 
at  the  cabaret  and  buy  a  litre  or  two  of  petrol  to  get 
them  to  Paris.  Yet  they  dallied  on  in  the  way  of 
young  love  and  drove  up  to  the  bank  just  before  it 
closed.  When  Adelle  in  her  nonchalant  manner 
asked  the  young  man  at  the  window  to  give  her  five 
thousand  francs  in  notes,  she  received  a  great  shock 
—  the  worst  shock  of  her  life.  The  young  cashier, 
who  had  paid  out  to  her  through  the  little  brass 
guichet  many  tens  of  thousands  of  pretty  white  notes 
and  gold-pieces,  informed  her  that  he  could  not  give 
her  any  money.  It  developed,  under  a  storm  of  ex 
clamation  and  protest,  that  only  that  noon  the 
bankers  had  received  a  cablegram  from  their  corre 
spondent  in  America  curtly  directing  them  not  to 
cash  further  drafts  drawn  by  Miss  Clark  against 

214 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  Washington  Trust  Company.  The  magic  lamp 
had  gone  out  most  inopportunely!  In  vain  Adelle 
expostulated,  declared  there  was  a  mistake,  even 
introduced  to  the  cashier  ''my  husband,"  who  looked 
uncomfortable,  but  tried  to  assume  authority  and 
demanded  reasons  for  the  bank's  treatment  of  his 
wife.  All  the  reason  lay  in  that  brief  cablegram. 
The  couple  at  last  turned  dejectedly  into  the  street 
and  again  got  into  Adelle 's  runabout,  which  obvi 
ously  was  in  need  of  more  petrol. 

"It'sPussy,"  Adelle  pronounced  with  divination. 

"If  it  is,  she's  got  in  her  fine  work  fast." 

The  two  might  reflect  sadly  that  if  they  had  been 
prudent,  they  would  not  have  spent  all  that  morning 
in  love-making,  having  a  lifetime  for  that,  but  would 
have  taken  prompt  measures  to  secure  funds  as  soon 
as  the  bank  opened.  Of  course,  it  had  never  occurred 
to  either  of  them  that  trouble  would  fall  in  just  this 
way. 

And  now  what  was  to  be  done?  Adelle  felt  that 
they  should  drive  at  once  to  the  Villa  Ponitowski, 
secure  her  clothes  and  jewelry,  and  make  Pussy, 
who  she  had  no  doubt  was  there,  bank  them  until 
the  embargo  on  her  drafts  was  raised.  But  neither 
had  what  Archie  called  "the  nerve"  to  do  this.  So 
they  went  for  refuge  to  the  only  place  they  knew, 
Miss  Baxter's  studio. 

There  they  found  Miss  Comstock.  She  had  come 
to  Paris,  of  course,  by  the  first  train  the  day  before, 
arriving  at  the  studio  shortly  after  they  had  left  in 

215 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

search  of  food.  She  had  vibrated  between  the 
studio  and  the  Neuilly  villa  ever  since,  sure  that 
when  Adelle  was  short  of  funds  she  would  go  home 
to  roost.  And  Pussy  had  taken  immediate  measures 
to  cut  off  funds  by  cabling  to  the  trust  company 
the  exact  facts  of  Adelle 's  disappearance  in  company 
with  the  Calif ornian.  She  received  them  amiably. 

"My  dear  Adelle,"  she  began,  "you  should  not 
be  so  eccentric.  You  gave  us  all  a  shock !  .  .  .  I  was 
coming  up  to  Paris  and  would  have  been  glad  to 
motor  up  with  you  and  —  er  —  Mr.  Davis,  I  be 
lieve."  There  was  a  deadly  pause  while  she  scruti 
nized  the  guilty  couple  through  her  glasses,  as  if  she 
were  determining  the  exact  extent  of  the  mischief 
already  done.  She  looked  disgustedly  over  the  dusty 
studio  and  observed,  —  "It's  not  a  sweet  place  for — 
er —  love-making,  is  it?  Why  did  n't  you  go  to 
the  Villa,  my  dear,  and  let  Marie  look  after  you?" 

Archie  laughed  inanely.  Adelle  felt  that  she  could 
not  stand  more  of  this  feline  fooling.  She  said 
bluntly, — 

"We 're  married." 

"  Married !  So  soon !  How  —  er  —  nice ! "  Pussy 
commented. 

"Yes,  we're  married,  Miss  Comstock,"  Archie 
added  lamely,  mopping  his  brow. 

"You  don't  mean  that?"  Miss  Comstock  said 
quickly,  her  tone  changing. 

Adelle  nodded. 

"Then  it  is  really  a  serious  matter." 
216 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Adelle's  blood  froze. 

"I  can't  believe  you  have  been  such  a  fool,"  she 
said  to  the  girl.  "Or  you  such  a  scamp,"  she  turned 
upon  the  frightened  youth. 

It  seemed  to  Adelle  that  Pussy  would  have  con 
doned  anything  or  everything  except  that  fatal  visit 
to  the  consulate.  Pussy's  morals,  she  knew,  were  of 
the  strictly  serviceable  sort,  and  she  was  gladder 
than  ever  that  she  had  prodded  Archie  into  having 
the  ceremony  performed  at  once.  Now  Pussy  could 
do  nothing  but  scold. 

But  Miss  Comstock  accepted  only  the  inevitable, 
and  she  was  not  yet  convinced  that  the  visit  to  the 
consulate  and  the  ceremony  there  constituted  an 
inevitable  marriage.  She  pleaded  with  Adelle  to 
leave  her  so-called  husband  and  come  back  with  her 
to  the  Neuilly  villa  "  until  the  matter  could  be 
straightened  out,  and  an  announcement  of  the  mar 
riage  made  to  the  world,"  as  she  was  wily  enough  to 
put  it.  But  Adelle  was  adamant.  Archie,  to  whom 
the  woman  next  appealed,  was  more  yielding.  She 
succeeded  in  frightening  him,  talking  about  the 
dangers  of  French  laws  that  had  to  do  with  minors. 
Of  course  they  had  lied  about  Adelle's  age,  and  there 
were  all  sorts  of  complications  besides  the  scandal, 
which  was  perfectly  needless  in  any  case.  And  Miss 
Comstock  assured  them  that  the  trust  company 
would  probably  take  every  step  to  annul  the  mar 
riage.  There  was  a  very  hard  road  ahead  of  them  if 
they  persisted  in  their  idiotic  course.  Finally  she 

217 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

even  suggested  that  Archie  might  return  to  the  Villa 
with  them  until  his  status  could  be  determined. 
Adelle,  however,  feared  Pussy's  cleverness  and  would 
not  stir  from  the  studio.  All  through  the  protracted 
interview  in  this  crisis,  when  her  heart's  desire  was 
threatened,  Adelle  displayed  surprising  courage  and 
steadfastness  of  purpose.  Her  courage  naturally 
was  an  egotistic  courage :  it  amounted  in  sum  to  this 
—  nobody  should  take  away  her  toy  from  her  this 
time.  And  finally  Miss  Comstock  retired  from  the 
scene  defeated  and  somewhat  venomous. 

"I  hope,  my  dear,"  she  sent  as  a  parting  shot 
"that  Mr.  Davis  can  give  you  the  comforts  you  are 
used  to.  I  think  it  may  be  extremely  difficult  for  you 
to  use  your  own  money  for  the  present." 

Adelle  seemed  quite  indifferent  to  the  comforts  she 
had  been  used  to,  although  she  well  knew  that  there 
was  not  a  five-franc  piece  in  the  studio,  when  Miss 
Comstock  departed  to  cable  the  trust  company  the 
results  of  her  interview.  The  trust  company,  it  may 
be  said  in  passing,  was  much  upset  over  the  news, 
and  after  consultation  decided  to  send  the  third  vice- 
president  across  the  ocean  to  examine  into  the  mat 
ter,  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  having  declined  to  undertake 
the  delicate  mission.  Meantime  they  did  not  rescind 
their  instructions  to  their  Paris  correspondent,  and 
so  for  some  days  to  come  the  young  people  were  re 
duced  to  absurd  straits  for  the  want  of  money. 

After  Pussy  had  gone,  with  her  threat,  Adelle 
218 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

burst  into  tears  and  accused  Archie  of  not  support 
ing  her  in  this  battle.  Was  she  not  giving  up  every 
thing  for  him?  —  etc.  Archie  had  his  first  lesson  in 
being  the  husband  of  an  heiress,  even  a  much-petted 
husband.  It  was  finally  learned,  and  kisses  were  ex 
changed.  Then  they  thought  to  appease  their  hun 
ger,  which  by  this  time  was  acute,  and  debated  how 
this  was  to  be  done.  Adelle  was  confident  that  on 
the  morrow  she  could  sell  what  jewelry  she  had  with 
her  for  enough  to  support  them  pleasantly  until  she 
could  make  it  right  with  the  trust  company  and  get 
hold  of  her  lamp  again.  For  this  evening  she  bor 
rowed  five  francs  from  the  suspicious  and  unwilling 
concierge,  and  with  the  money  Archie  went  forth 
to  the  corner  and  brought  back  a  dubious  mess  of 
cold  food  and  a  bottle  of  poor  wine,  which  they  con 
sumed  in  the  dark  studio,  then  went  to  sleep  upon 
the  divan  in  each  other's  arms  like  a  couple  of  ro 
mance.  Rather  late  in  the  day  on  the  morrow  Adelle 
sallied  out  in  a  cab  to  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  confident 
that  she  would  return  with  much  gold.  She  found 
naturally  that  her  own  handiwork  was  unsalable  at 
any  price,  and  that  the  fashionable  shops  where 
she  had  dealt  prodigally  would  not  advance  her  a 
cent  even  upon  their  own  wares.  Pussy,  she  realized, 
had  shut  off  also  this  avenue  to  ease!  They  w^ere 
obliged  to  induce  the  concierge's  wife  to  pledge  at 
the  pawnshop  the  more  marketable  things  Adelle 
had  with  her.  With  the  few  francs  thus  derived  they 
managed  to  picnic  in  the  studio  for  the  next  week. 

219 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

They  became  acquainted  with  busses  and  the  bat- 
teau  mouche  and  other  lowly  forms  of  transportation 
and  amusement,  but  spent  most  of  their  time  in  the 
studio,  love-making,  of  which  Adelle  did  not  weary. 
Archie  was  used  to  the  devices  of  a  short  purse  and 
Adelle  thought  it  all  a  great  lark  for  love's  sake.  Be 
sides,  it  must  end  soon,  and  the  high  noon  of  prosper 
ity  return  with  the  possession  of  her  precious  lamp. 
To  hasten  that  event  she  wrote  a  rather  peremptory 
note  to  the  Washington  Trust  Company,  notifying 
them  of  her  change  of  name  and  complaining  of  the 
mistake  they  had  made  in  cutting  off  her  drafts. 
It  would  take  a  fortnight  at  the  most  to  get  a  reply, 
and  then  all  would  be  right.  Archie  did  not  feel  so 
confident. 


XXV 

PROSPERITY  did  not  return  as  completely  as  Adelle 
expected,  nor  as  easily.  Mr.  Solomon  Smith,  the 
vice-president  of  the  trust  company,  arrived  in  Paris 
in  due  course  on  the  seventh  day  and  fell  naturally 
first  into  the  hands  of  Miss  Comstock.  For  Pussy, 
realizing  to  the  full  the  consequences  of  this  situa 
tion  to  herself  as  an  exploiter  of  rich  American  girls 
from  the  very  best  families,  had  moved  her  family 
back  to  the  Villa  Ponitowski  and  had  set  the  stage 
demurely  and  convincingly  for  the  arrival  of  the 
trust  company's  emissary.  She  impressed  Mr.  Smith 
easily  as  an  intelligent  and  prudent  woman,  who 
was  terribly  concerned  over  Adelle's  false  step,  and 
quite  blameless  in  the  affair. 

"Such  an  unfortunate  accident,"  she  explained  to 
him,  "from  every  point  of  view:  —  think  of  my  dear 
girls,  the  example  to  them!  .  .  .  And  such  deceit, 
—  one  would  not  have  expected  it  of  the  girl,  I  must 
say!  ...  I  know  nothing  whatever  about  the 
young  man,  except  that  he  comes  from  the  West  — 
from  California.  One  of  my  girls  —  a  daughter  of 
Hermann  Paul,  the  rich  San  Francisco  railroad  man, 
you  know  —  tells  me  that  this  Davis  fellow  is  of 
most  ordinary  people,  what  is  called  a  'bounder,' 
you  know.  Adelle  naturally  did  not  meet  him  here, 

221 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

but  at  the  studio  of  one  of  her  friends.  I  knew  noth 
ing  whatever  about  it  until  just  before  the  elope 
ment  —  the  very  day  before,  in  fact,  when  I  sur 
prised  them  together  in  a  motor-car.  I  spoke  to  the 
girl  that  night,  of  course,  kindly  but  severely.  I  had 
no  idea  she  could  do  such  a  thing !  It  must  have  been 
in  her  mind  a  long  time.  The  girl  showed  great  pow 
ers  of  duplicity,  all  the  trickiness  of  a  parvenue,  to 
be  quite  frank.  I  never  had  a  girl  of  such  low  tastes, 
I  may  say ;  —  all  my  girls  are  from  the  very  best 
families,  most  carefully  selected.'* 

Thus  Miss  Comstock  skillfully  contrived  to  throw 
the  responsibility  for  Adelle's  misstep  upon  her  birth 
and  upon  the  trust  company  which  had  brought  her 
up.  In  doing  this  she  but  confirmed  Mr.  Smith  in 
his  opinion  that  the  guardianship  of  minor  girls  was 
not  a  branch  of  the  business  that  the  Washington 
Trust  Company  should  undertake.  They  lacked  the 
proper  facilities,  as  he  would  express  it,  and  it  was 
more  of  a  nuisance  than  it  was  worth.  He  had  had 
a  tempestuous  September  passage  across  the  ocean 
and  dreaded  the  return  voyage. 

Having  won  a  vantage-point  Miss  Comstock  next 
proceeded  to  give  a  piquant  account  of  Mr.  Ashly 
Crane's  dealings  with  the  girl,  who  in  a  way  had 
been  his  special  charge. 

"  Fortunately  I  nipped  that  affair  in  the  bud," 
she  said,  "although,  as  it  turned  out,  I  suppose  he 
might  have  been  less  objectionable  than  the  fellow 
she  took.  I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Crane  lowered  the 

222 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

girl's  ideals  of  manhood  and  thus  paved  the  way  for 
her  fall,"  she  added  gravely. 

Mr.  Smith  listened  to  the  tale  of  Mr.  Crane's  fu 
tile  attempt  in  rising  astonishment  and  wrath.  He 
was  himself  a  married  man  with  a  family  of  growing 
daughters.  He  made  a  mental  note  of  Mr.  Crane's 
conduct,  which  ultimately  terminated  that  promis 
ing  young  banker's  career  in  finance  with  the  trust 
company. 

"Where  is  the  girl?"  he  asked  at  the  end,  sighing. 
"  I  must  see  her,  I  suppose,  though  it  seems  too  late 
to  do  anything  now." 

Pussy  had  sagely  taken  account  of  Mr.  Solomon 
Smith's  character  and  concluded  that  the  banker 
was  the  sort  of  middle-class  American  who  might  in 
sist  upon  the  young  couple's  being  married  all  over 
again  in  due  form  if  he  suspected  anything  irregular, 
and  so  to  save  bother  all  around  she  assured  him 
that  she  herself  had  made  inquiry  at  the  consulate 
and  found  that  the  marriage  performed  there  was 
binding  enough,  — "  unless  the  trust  company 
wished  to  intervene  as  guardian  of  the  minor  and 
contest  its  validity  on  the  ground  of  misrepresenta 
tion  of  Adelle's  age,"  which,  of  course,  must  involve 
considerable  scandal. 

"It  would  be  very  unpleasant,  indeed,"  she  said 
meaningly. 

The  banker,  who  hated  all  publicity  for  himself 
and  for  his  institution,  hastened  to  say  that  he  had 
no  idea  of  taking  such  action ;  merely  wished  to  be 

223 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

sure  that  the  girl  was  really  married  and  that  her 
children,  if  any  came  to  her,  would  be  born  in  lawful 
wedlock.  Miss  Comstock  hid  a  smile  and  set  his 
mind  at  rest  on  that  point. 

(One  sequel  of  this  affair,  by  the  way,  was  the 
prompt  conclusion  of  Mr.  Morris  McBride's  diplo 
matic  career:  he  returned  presently  to  a  patient 
fatherland  to  renew  in  Cook  County,  Illinois,  his 
services  to  the  Republican  Party.) 

After  a  delectable  luncheon  at  Miss  Comstock's, 
Mr.  Smith  drove  alone  from  the  Neuilly  villa  to  Miss 
Baxter's  studio,  where  he  found  the  young  couple 
somewhat  in  neglige,  recovering  from  one  of  the  con 
cierge's  indigestible  repasts,  funds  now  running  too 
low  to  permit  them  to  indulge  in  restaurant  life. 
The  untidy  studio  and  the  disheveled  couple  them 
selves  made  a  very  bad  impression  upon  the  trust 
company's  officer,  who  loathed  from  the  depths  of 
his  orderly  soul  all  slatternness  and  especially  "bo- 
hemian  art."  He  examined  the  young  husband 
through  his  horn-bowed  glasses  so  sternly  that  Ar 
chie  slunk  into  the  darkest  corner  of  the  studio  and 
remained  there  during  the  banker's  visit,  which  he 
left  to  Adelle  to  bear.  Mr.  Smith  could  not  be  harsh 
with  the  young  bride,  no  matter  how  foolish  and 
wrong-headed  he  thought  her. 

"Mrs.  —  er — Davis,"  he  began,  going  straight 
to  the  point  like  a  business  man,  "I  am  informed 
that  you  are  regularly  married.  It  might  be  possible 
to  have  such  a  marriage  as  you  have  chosen  to  make 

224 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

set  aside  on  the  ground  that  you  are  a  minor  —  still 
a  ward  of  an  American  court  —  and  misrepresented 
your  age  to  the  consular  officer." 

Adelle  opened  her  gray  eyes  in  consternation. 
Were  they,  after  all,  thinking  of  taking  Archie  from 
her?  But  she  was  reassured  by  the  trust  officer's 
next  words. 

"Your  guardians,  however,  will  in  all  likelihood 
not  take  any  such  steps —  I  shall  not  recommend  it. 
Although  you  yet  lack  eighteen  months  of  being  le 
gally  of  age,  and  of  course  ought  not  to  have  mar 
ried  without  our  consent,  nevertheless  you  are  of 
an  age  when  many  young  women  assume  the  respon 
sibilities  of  marriage.  The  facts  being  what  they 
are,"  —  he  paused  to  look  around  disgustedly  at 
the  evidences  of  the  picnicking  menage,  —  "I  see  no 
use  in  our  interfering  now  in  this  unfortunate  affair." 

Adelle's  pale  face  brightened.  He  was  a  good  old 
sort,  she  thought,  and  was  n't  going  to  make  trou 
ble,  after  all,  —  merely  lecture  them  a  bit,  and  she 
composed  her  face  properly  to  receive  his  scolding. 
It  came,  but  it  was  not  very  bad,  at  least  Adelle  did 
not  feel  its  sting. 

"  It  is  also  needless  for  me  to  pain  you,"  he  began, 
"by  telling  you  what  I  —  what  every  mature  per 
son  —  must  think  of  your  rash  step.  Its  conse 
quences  upon  your  own  future  life  will  probably 
manifest  themselves  only  too  soon.  For  a  young  girl 
like  you,  carefully  brought  up  under  the  best  educa 
tional  influences,  and  still  in  the  charge  of  a  —  er 

225 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

—  companion,  -  -  "  Adelle  smiled  demurely  at  Mr. 
Smith's  difficulty  in  finding  the  right  word  to  de 
scribe  Pussy  Comstock,  —  "to  deceive  the  kind 
watchfulness,  the  confidence  reposed  in  you,  and 
carry  on  clandestine  relations"  —  What's  that? 
thought  Adelle  —  "with  the  first  young  fellow  who 
presents  himself,  indicates  a  serious  lack  on  your 
part  of  something  that  every  woman  should  have 
to  —  er  —  to  cope  with  life  successfully,"  he  con 
cluded,  letting  her  down  at  the  end  softly. 

This  long  sentence,  by  the  way,  was  an  interest 
ing  composite  of  several  "forms"  that  Mr.  Smith 
used  frequently  on  different  occasions.  It  did  not 
impress  Adelle  as  it  should.  She  felt,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  that  in  deceiving  Pussy,  she  had  merely  pitted 
her  feeble  will  and  intelligence  against  a  much 
stronger  one  of  an  experienced  woman,  who  was 
none  too  scrupulous  in  her  own  methods.  Also  that 
in  acting  as  she  had  in  running  away  with  Archie, 
she  had  displayed  the  first  real  gleam  of  character  in 
her  whole  life.  But  she  could  not  put  these  things 
into  words.  So  she  let  Mr.  Smith  continue  without 
protest,  which  was  the  best  way. 

"As  for  the  husband  you  have  chosen,  I  know 
nothing  about  him  of  course.  I  can  only  say  that  men 
of  standing  have  slight  regard  for  any  man  who  takes 
advantage  of  the  weakness  and  folly  of  a  school 
girl,  especially  when  he  has  everything  to  gain  finan 
cially  from  her  and  nothing  to  give." 

Archie  winced  at  this  truthful  statement  and  ner- 
226 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

vously  dropped  a  palette  with  which  he  had  been 
fussing.  It  clattered  to  the  floor  and  broke,  setting 
the  nerves  of  all  three  on  edge. 

"Such  a  man,"  Mr.  Smith  proceeded  in  his  most 
acid  tones,  glaring  at  Archie,  "is  properly  called  an 
adventurer,  and  rarely  if  ever  proves  to  have  char 
acter  enough  to  retain  the  respect  of  the  woman  he 
has  wheedled  into  sacrificing  herself." 

This  was  a  bit  unfair,  for  Archie  had  been  whee 
dled  rather  than  wheedled  Adelle.  Moreover,  the 
world  is  full,  as  Mr.  Smith  must  surely  know,  of 
young  men  who  have  committed  matrimony  with 
girls  financially  to  their  advantage  and  who  have 
retained  not  only  their  own  self-respect,  but  won 
the  admiration  of  their  acquaintances  into  the  bar 
gain  for  their  skill  and  good  luck. 

And  Adelle  resented  the  slur  for  Archie  even  more 
than  the  young  man  did.  She  felt  vaguely  that 
Archie  ought  to  do  something  to  demonstrate  that 
he  was  not  a  worthless  character,  possibly  kick  Mr. 
Smith  out  of  the  studio,  at  least  protest  at  being 
called  a  "cad"  and  "adventurer."  But  Archie  took 
it  all  meekly  and  busied  himself  with  recovering  the 
pieces  of  the  broken  palette  from  the  floor.  Mr. 
Smith  did  not  press  his  dialectic  advantage ;  in  other 
words,  did  not  specifically  hit  Archie  again.  Perhaps 
a  human  compunction,  for  the  sake  of  the  young  girl 
who  had  just  rashly  hazarded  her  life's  happiness 
with  the  young  man,  restrained  him.  He  turned 
instead  again  to  Adelle  in  a  gentler  tone. 

227 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

11 1  feel  sincerely  sorry  for  you,  Mrs.  Davis.  A 
young  woman  in  your  position,  without  family  or 
near  friends  to  shield  her,  is  exposed  to  all  the  evil 
selfishness  of  the  world.  You  have  succumbed,  I  am 
afraid,  to  a  delusion,  although  the  trust  company 
did  its  best  to  supply  your  lack  of  natural  protectors, 
to  shield  you." 

He  reflected,  perhaps,  that  the  trust  company 
had  been,  even  from  the  easy  American  standard,  a 
rather  negligent  parent,  chiefly  concerned  with  its 
ward's  fortune,  and  hastened  to  say  defensively,  — 
"We  placed  you  with  an  excellent  woman,"  — 
Adelle  had  placed  herself,  but  it  made  no  difference, 

—  "one  in  whom  we  have  every  confidence  not  only 
as  a  teacher,  but  also  as  a  friend  and  guide."   Even 
Adelle  smiled  broadly  at  this  description  of  Pussy. 
"But  all  our  care  has  been  in  vain:  you  have  put  us 
now  where  we  cannot  help  you  further!" 

Adelle  lowered  her  eyes,  but  felt  happier  —  the 
sermon  was  coming  to  an  end. 

"It  is  useless  for  me  to  continue,  however.  It 
rests  with  you  alone,  with  you  and  your  husband," 

—  he  pronounced  the  term  with  infinite  scorn,  — 
"  to  prove  that  your  rash  choice  is  not  what  it  seems, 

—  the  end  of  your  career,  the  end  of  your  happiness. 
And  it  rests  with  you,  sir,"  he  added  severely,  looking 
over  at  Archie,  "to  prove  that  you  are  man  enough 
to  be  a  kind  husband  to  the  girl  who  has  married  you 
under  such  circumstances.     I  sincerely  hope  that 
your  future  will  be  better  than  your  act  promises!" 

228 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Here  was  another  opening  for  the  kick,  but  Archie 
failed  to  grasp  it.  He  took  his  cue  from  Adelle  and 
maintained  a  sulky  silence. 

''There  remains  but  one  more  thing  for  me  to 
speak  of,  Mrs.  Davis,  and  that  is  your  property,  of 
which  the  trust  company  must  continue  guardian  for 
nearly  two  years  more  until  you  become  of  age  and 
the  company  is  released  from  its  guardianship  by  the 
court." 

The  couple  pricked  up  their  ears  with  relief  at  the 
mention  of  property. 

"You  have  shown  yourself  to  be  prodigal  in  ex 
penditure,"  Mr.  Smith  remarked,  pulling  from  his 
pocket  a  card  with  a  list  of  figures.  "This  past  year 
you  drew  very  nearly  if  not  quite  thirty-eight  thou 
sand  dollars,  —  altogether  too  much  money,  I  should 
say,  for  a  young  woman  to  spend  safely." 

"It  was  the  cars  and  the  Nile  trip,"  Adelle  mur 
mured. 

"Fortunately  it  happens  to  be  well  within  the  in 
come  of  your  estate,  and  so  I  suppose  I  cannot  raise 
objections  except  upon  moral  grounds.  It  is  too 
much  money  for  any  woman  to  spend  wisely! " 

Mr.  Smith  apparently  had  positive  convictions  on 
this  subject.  Adelle  did  not  seem  to  care  what  he 
thought  a  woman  could  spend  wisely. 

"And  so  I  propose  that  for  the  remainder  of  the 
time  while  you  are  nominally  under  our  guardian 
ship  the  trust  company  shall  allow  you — "  He  paused 
as  if  debating  the  figure  with  himself,  and  Archie 

229 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

unconsciously  walked  a  couple  of  steps  nearer  the 
others.  Alas!  It  drew  Mr.  Smith's  attention  from 
Adelle,  for  whom  he  was  sorry,  to  the  cause,  as  he 
thought,  of  her  misfortune.  Whatever  had  been  in 
his  mind  he  said  curtly,  looking  at  Archie,  "Five 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  to  be  paid  in  quarterly  in 
stallments  on  your  personal  order,  Mrs.  Davis." 

The  young  people  looked  at  him  aghast.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  five  thousand  dollars  a  year  was  not 
penury,  at  least  to  Archie,  who  had  rarely  seen  a 
clear  twelve  hundred  from  January  to  January, 
Even  Adelle,  after  her  training  in  the  Church  Street 
house,  might  at  a  pinch  hold  herself  in  for  eighteen 
months,  all  the  more  as  after  that  period  of  proba 
tion  she  could  not  be  prevented  by  the  trust  company 
from  indulging  herself  to  the  full  extent  of  her  in 
come.  Adelle,  indeed,  who  was  still  somewhat  vague 
about  the  limitations  and  possibilities  of  money,  was 
not  as  much  annoyed  as  Archie.  But  she  knew  that 
she  was  being  punished  for  her  conduct  in  running 
away  with  Archie  by  this  disagreeable  old  man,  and 
she  resented  punishment  as  a  child  might  resent  it. 
Mr.  Smith,  observing  the  signs  of  discontent  with 
his  announcement,  remarked  with  increased  de 
cision  and  satisfaction :  - 

11 1  am  sure  that  will  be  best  for  both  of  you.  Es 
pecially  for  you,  Mrs.  Davis!  It  will  give  you  an  op 
portunity  to  find  out  how  much  you  care  for  each 
other,  without  the  luxuries  that  wealth  brings.  And 
it  will  protect  you,  my  dear,  from  —  er  —  the  indis- 

230 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

cretions  of  a  young  husband,  who  has  not  been  accus 
tomed  to  the  use  of  much  money,  I  gather." 

Undoubtedly  Mr.  Smith  thought  he  was  acting 
wisely  towards  them,  —  "  Just  as  I  would  if  it  had 
been  my  own  daughter,"  according  to  his  report  to 
President  West.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  acted  pre 
cisely  as  parents  are  only  too  prone  to  act,  with  one 
third  desire  for  the  best  interests  of  the  parties  con 
cerned  and  two  thirds  desire  to  have  them  punished 
for  their  folly.  The  punitive  motive  was  large  in 
Mr.  Smith's  decision  to  put  the  couple  on  short  ra 
tions  as  long  as  he  had  the  power  to  do  so.  He  would 
have  liked  to  tie  up  Adelle's  fortune  indefinitely,  so 
that  the  young  scamp  who  had  married  her  for  her 
money  (as  he  was  convinced)  might  get  as  little  of  it 
as  possible.  Unfortunately  the  trust  company  had 
no  control  after  Adelle's  twenty-first  birthday,  un 
less  by  that  time  experience  should  teach  her  the 
wisdom  of  voluntarily  putting  her  fortune  beyond 
her  husband's  reach;  but,  at  any  rate,  for  the  next 
few  months  it  could  arbitrarily  and  tyrannically  dis 
appoint  his  hungry  appetite,  and  that  is  what  Mr. 
Smith  meant  to  do.  His  psychology,  unfortunately, 
was  faulty.  It  was  perhaps  the  poorest  way  of  se 
curing  Adelle's  happiness  in  the  end,  as  he  might 
have  foreseen  if  he  had  been  less  conscientious  and 
more  human.  .  .  . 

Shortly  after  delivering  his  blow,  Mr.  Smith  took 
his  hat  and  left  the  studio  without  shaking  hands 
with  Archie,  although  he  smiled  frostily  on  the  trust 

231 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

company's  ward  and  "hoped  all  would  go  well  with 
her  in  her  new  life."  All  the  way  back  to  his  hotel 
he  congratulated  himself  for  his  dispatch,  finesse, 
eloquence,  and  wisdom  in  handling  a  deplorable  and 
difficult  situation.  Yet  it  is  hard  to  see  just  what 
he  had  accomplished  by  crossing  the  ocean.  He 
washed  his  hands  of  "the  Clark  girl"  before  he  left 
Paris  for  his  return  voyage,  and,  like  so  many  per 
sons  with  whom  the  young  heiress  had  dealings, 
never  again  actively  entered  her  life. 


XXVI 

WHEN  the  studio  door  closed  upon  the  emissary  of 
the  trust  company,  the  young  couple  looked  at  each 
other  a  little  ruefully.  Archie  kicked  over  a  chair  or 
two  and  expressed  himself  volubly,  now  that  it  was 
safe,  upon  the  priggishness  and  meanness  of  such 
folks  as  Mr.  Solomon  Smith.  Adelle  might  wish  that 
he  had  expressed  himself  in  these  vigorous  terms 
earlier,  when  there  could  have  been  discussion  and 
a  chance  of  modifying  Mr.  Smith's  decision.  But  she 
realized  how  raw  he  was  feeling  from  the  old  gentle 
man's  contempt  and  sweetly  put  her  arms  around  her 
husband's  strong  shoulders  and  kissed  him  tenderly. 

"It  won't  be  so  bad,  Archie,"  she  said  hopefully. 
"We'll  get  on  somehow,  I  expect,  and  it  is  n't  for 
ever —  not  two  years."  She  could  recall  much 
graver  crises  in  life  than  being  compelled  to  live  for 
eighteen  months  with  an  adored  companion  on  sev 
enty-five  hundred  dollars,  and  people  somehow  sur 
vived  them. 

"It  isn't  just  the  money,"  Archie  protested,  a 
little  shamed,  but  still  grumpy.  "It's  his  rotten 
talk.  A  feller  does  n't  like  being  called  all  sorts  of 
names." 

"Well,  he's  gone  now  and  he  won't  come  back," 
Adelle  remarked  soothingly,  with  another  effort  to 

233 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

caress  her  young  lord  into  amiability  and  resigna 
tion  to  fate.  That  proved  more  difficult  than  usual : 
Archie  felt  the  sting  of  the  older  man's  taunts,  es 
pecially  the  horrid  word  "adventurer"  rankled  in 
his  subconsciousness.  He  saw  himself  reflected  in  the 
opinion  of  other  men,  —  at  least  of  stodgy,  middle- 
aged  men  like  Mr.  Smith,  who  worked  hard  for  what 
they  got  and  had  families,  —  and  it  ruffled  him  seri 
ously.  He  was  not  in  a  happy  temper  otherwise.  A 
fortnight  of  conjugal  picnicking  in  the  perpetual 
society  of  Adelle,  whose  conversational  powers  were 
limited,  had  chafed  him.  So  Adelle  had  her  first 
experience  in  that  woman's  pathetic  task  of  endeav 
oring  to  soothe  and  harmonize  the  disturbed  soul 
of  her  lord,  who,  she  is  aware,  has  only  himself  to 
blame  for  his  state  of  spiritual  discomfiture.  But 
Adelle,  like  all  her  sisters  who  love,  since  the  world 
began,  rose  nobly  to  her  part. 

Finally,  they  sallied  forth  and  with  some  money 
that  Adelle  had  contrived  to  extract,  probably  from 
the  sale  of  another  piece  of  real  jewelry,  they  con 
soled  themselves  with  an  elaborate  dinner  at  a  fa 
mous  restaurant  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  as  it 
was  a  warm  evening  drove  afterwards  out  to  the  Bois. 
The  next  day  Adelle  ventured  forth  to  the  bankers 
alone,  and  secured  the  first  quarterly  installment  of 
the  funds  left  there  to  her  account  by  the  prim  Mr. 
Smith.  With  the  notes  and  gold  she  hastened  back 
to  Archie,  and  the  couple  began  to  plan  seriously  for 
the  future. 

234 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  follow  the  pair  in  their 
erratic  course  during  the  next  eighteen  months,  al 
though  it  had  its  ludicrous  as  well  as  pathetic  steps. 
That  they  were  not  ready  for  any  sort  of  matrimo 
nial  partnership,  is  of  course  obvious,  but  as  they 
shared  their  disability  with  a  goodly  proportion  of 
young  married  people  the  world  over,  it  does  not 
count.  Adelle,  being  the  woman,  learned  her  lesson 
more  quickly  than  Archie,  and  under  conceivable 
circumstances  might  have  made  as  much  of  a  suc 
cess  with  her  rash  choice,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Smith's 
prophecies,  as  many  others  make  with  their  more 
prudently  premeditated  ones.  She  wanted  to  be 
married,  and  on  the  whole  she  was  content  when  she 
got  what  she  wanted, —  at  least,  in  the  beginning, — 
which  is  the  essential  condition  of  marital  comfort. 
But  Archie  had  not  by  any  means  been  as  anxious 
to  tie  himself  up  for  good  as  Adelle  had  been,  and 
was  more  restive  with  what  he  found  marriage  to  a 
rich  —  at  least,  expectantly  rich  —  wife  to  be. 

In  a  blind  effort  to  find  a  congenial  environment, 
they  moved  about  over  the  map  a  good  deal.  First 
they  went  to  Venice,  of  which  Adelle  especially  had 
rosy  memories  associated  with  the  dawn  of  love. 
They  took  a  furnished  apartment  in  an  old  palace 
over  the  Canal,  and  set  up  four  swarthy,  muscled 
rowers  in  blue  sashes.  Venice  has  been  for  many 
generations  the  haven  of  love,  especially  of  irregular 
or  illicit  love:  but  its  attraction  evaporates  swiftly 
after  the  ceremony  has  taken  place.  No  spot  where 

235 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  male  cannot  stretch  himself  and  get  away  from 
domesticity  for  a  few  hours  is  safe  except  for  the 
diviner,  more  ecstatic  forms  of  passion.  In  a  few 
weeks  the  couple  became  deadly  bored  with  Venice 
and  its  picture  postcard  replica  of  life.  At  Archie's 
suggestion  they  next  sought  Munich,  where  some 
of  his  artist  acquaintance  had  settled. 

This  was  an  atmosphere  of  work,  more  or  less,  and 
Adelle  amused  herself  by  thinking  that  she  and  her 
husband  were  members  of  that  glorious  band  of  free 
lances  of  art.  They  took  a  studio  apartment  and  set 
up  their  crafts  jointly.  If  either  had  had  the  real 
stuff  of  the  artist,  it  might  have  gone  well;  but 
two  idle  and  rather  uninformed  persons  in  the 
same  studio  produce  disaster.  Munich  soon  became 
an  affair  of  beer,  skittles,  and  music  in  company 
with  the  more  careless  spirits  that  gathered  there 
that  winter.  Among  them  happened  to  be  Sadie 
Paul. 

A  good  deal  had  happened  to  the  California  sisters, 
and  as  the  "two  Pols"  will  come  into  Adelle 's  life 
later  on,  their  story  can  be  briefly  given  here.  Irene, 
the  sister  who  had  brutally  betrayed  Adelle  in  a 
spirit  of  careless  mischief,  had  attracted  with  her  ripe 
California  charm  a  young  Englishman  of  family.  Mr. 
Hermann  Paul,  the  "San  Francisco  railroad  man" 
referred  to  by  Miss  Comstock,  meantime  had  died, 
and  Irene  had  gone  home  to  join  her  mother  and 
younger  brothers  and  ultimately  was  married  to  her 
Englishman.  She  divided  her  time  thereafter  about 

236 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

equally  between  England  and  the  new  earthly  para 
dise  of  the  Pacific.  Her  sister  Sadie  had  determined 
to  remain  in  Europe,  under  other  chaperonage  than 
Pussy  Comstock.  It  was  rumored  that  a  young  Hun 
garian  nobleman  was  hanging  somewhere  in  the 
horizon,  but  for  the  present  she  played  about  with 
Adelle  and  Archie.  Apparently  Sadie  Paul  did  not 
share  her  sister's  prejudices  about  "  the  red-headed 
bounder,"  for  she  flirted  unconcernedly  with  Archie 
as  far  as  he  would  go,  which  to  do  Archie  justice 
was  not  dangerously  far.  Adelle,  good-natured  and 
easy-going  by  disposition,  welcomed  the  return  of 
her  old  school  friend  and  was  not  in  the  least  dis 
turbed  by  her  flirtatious  attempts  with  Archie. 
That  sort  of  amorous  pretense  was  more  or  less 
the  habit  of  the  world  she  had  known,  and  besides, 
she  was  aware  that  Sadie  was  i '  having  a  desperate 
affair"  with  Count  Zornec,  the  Hungarian  referred 
to  above,  who  was  temporarily  exiled  to  his  remote 
estate.  Indeed,  she  became  the  means  of  furthering 
this  passion  and  speeding  it  to  its  destined  end  in 
matrimony,  which  has  to  do  with  a  subsequent  part 
of  our  tale.  .  .  . 

To  return  to  the  wanderings  of  Adelle  and  Archie, 
in  the  Easter  holidays  they  left  Munich  for  Switzer 
land  for  the  winter  sports,  and  in  the  spring  Archie 
conceiving  the  idea  that  he  wanted  to  do  Dutch 
landscape,  they  went  to  Holland  for  a  few  weeks. 
That  summer  they  rented  a  small  villa  along  the 
Bay  of  Biscay  and  had  Sadie  Paul  and  her  Count  as 

237 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

their  guests  for  a  time.  The  second  winter  of  their 
marriage  they  spent  in  Paris,  and  by  this  time  were 
rather  hard-pressed  for  ready  money,  as  neither  had 
relaxed  in  wanting  things  and  Adelle  especially  still 
had  the  habit  of  buying  whatever  attracted  her 
attention,  —  bright-colored  stuffs,  jewels,  and  use 
less  odds  and  ends  of  bric-a-brac,  with  the  idea  that 
sometime  they  should  want  to  establish  themselves 
permanently  somewhere  and  purchases  would  all 
come  in  usefully.  It  was  much  as  a  bird  gathers 
sticks,  straws,  and  bright-colored  threads,  but  in 
Adelle  it  was  an  expensive  instinct.  Towards  the 
end  of  their  period  of  probation,  they  had  to  get  aid 
from  money-lenders,  to  whom  Sadie  Paul  introduced 
them.  Adelle  did  not  find  it  difficult  to  raise  money 
on  her  expectations,  at  a  stiff  rate  of  interest,  and 
thus  the  object  of  the  Puritan  Mr.  Smith  was  de 
feated.  It  would  have  pained  his  thrifty  banker's 
soul  had  he  known  that  the  trust  company's  ward 
was  gayly  paying  ten  and  fifteen  per  cent  for  "tempo 
rary  accommodation,"  while  her  own  funds  were 
barely  earning  five  per  cent  in  the  careful  invest 
ments  of  the  trust  company!  When  Adelle  finally 
got  hold  of  her  fortune,  a  goodly  sum  had  to  be  paid 
over  to  settle  the  claims  of  these  obliging  money 
lenders.  .  .  . 

Of  the  quarrels,  big  and  little,  that  the  young 
couple  had  these  first  months  it  is  useless  to  speak. 
Thus  far  they  were  neither  excessively  severe  nor 
dangerously  frequent  —  no  worse,  perhaps,  than  the 

238 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

average  idle  couple  must  create  in  love's  readjust 
ment  to  prosaic  fact.  Adelle  no  longer  believed  that 
her  Archie  would  be  the  great  painter  that  she  had 
once  fondly  dreamed  of  helping  him  to  become.  He 
was  too  lazy  and  fond  of  good  things  to  eat  and 
drink  and  other  sensual  rewards  of  life  to  become  dis 
tinguished  in  anything,  unless  perchance  he  were 
well  starved  into  discipline.  His  present  life  of  com 
parative  ease  and  expected  wealth  was  the  very 
worst  thing  for  him  as  man  and  as  artist.  Like  an 
over-fertilized  plant  he  went  to  leaf  and  bore  little 
fruit.  And  thus  again  Clark's  Field,  with  its  delayed 
expectations,  had  a  baleful  influence  upon  a  new 
generation  of  human  beings.  The  Davises  had  just 
enough  money  to  wander  loose  over  Europe,  dis 
turbed,  as  Addie  had  once  been  disturbed,  by  the 
hope  of  a  more  golden  future. 

Adelle  herself  was  content  not  to  work  hard  at 
the  manufacture  of  jewelry,  although  if  she  had 
been  encouraged,  she  might  have  become  almost 
second-rate  in  this  minor  art.  She,  too,  was  indolent, 
if  not  by  disposition,  by  training,  and  Europe  offers 
abundant  distraction  of  a  semi-intellectual  sort  to 
fill  the  days  of  people  like  Archie  and  Adelle.  To 
loaf  herself  was  not  so  fatal  for  Adelle  as  to  acqui 
esce  in  Archie's  loafing,  to  accept  the  parasitic  no 
tion  for  her  man  that  obtained  in  the  easy-going  cir 
cles  she  knew.  "Oh,  well,"  she  said  to  Sadie,  "  why 
should  Archie  work  if  he  doesn't  want  to?" 

Sadie  saw  no  reason  and  suggested,  —  "There 
239 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

is  n't  one  of  those  painters  who  would  stick  at  it 
if  he  did  n't  have  to." 

Like  all  poor  people,  they  had  n't  any  luck;  that 
was  her  idea.  And  Adelle  cultivated  another  dan 
gerous  conception  of  marriage. 

"It's  enough  for  me  if  he's  good  to  me  and  loves 
me  —  I  have  plenty  of  money  for  us  both." 

In  other  words,  she  thought  that  she  should  be 
satisfied  to  keep  her  lover  always  as  an  appanage  of 
her  magic  lamp,  to  maintain  a  human  being  and  a 
male  human  being  as  she  might  maintain  a  motor 
car  or  an  estate  or  a  stable,  as  something  desirable 
and  pleasurable,  contributing  to  her  happiness,  — 
the  privilege  of  her  fortunate  position  as  a  woman  of 
means.  There  were  many  rich  women  who  had  that 
idea  or  cultivated  it  as  a  solace  to  their  defeated 
souls. 

"Is  n't  he  a  dear?"  she  would  say  to  Sadie  Paul 
in  these  moments  of  proud  consciousness  of  posses 
sion;  and  conversely  she  would  say  sternly  when 
some  case  of  masculine  errancy  was  brought  to  her 
notice,  —  "If  Archie  treated  me  like  that,  he'd  find 
his  bag  packed  and  sitting  outside  the  door!" 

So  she  was  very  fussy  about  her  husband's  ap 
pearance,  —  his  dress  and  manners  and  appoint 
ments  ;  and  insisted  upon  giving  him  every  accessory 
of  luxury,  everything  that  rich  men  supposably  en 
joy.  As  her  nearest  and  dearest  possession,  she  was 
more  concerned  with  his  brave  appearance  than  she 
was  with  her  own.  She  "dolled"  him  up,  as  Sadie 

240 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Paul  laughingly  called  it.  "  Is  n't  he  cunning?  "  was 
one  of  her  common  expressions  of  marital  happiness. 
Occasionally,  in  more  serious  moods,  she  might  talk 
largely  about  Archie's  "going  into  business"  when 
they  "got  their  money,"  but  as  time  went  on  and 
Archie  displayed  little  aptitude  for  managing  money, 
she  talked  less  about  this.  Adelle  would  have  been 
content  to  buy  the  Basque  villa  they  had  rented 
and  establish  herself  and  Archie  there  in  complete 
idleness  and  luxury,  provided  he  would  always  be 
"good"  to  her,  by  which  she  meant  faithful  to  those 
unconsidered  marriage  vows  made  in  the  Paris  con 
sulate,  and  not  too  cross. 

And  thus  Archie  and  Adelle  drifted  on  towards 
that  great  date  of  their  complete  emancipation  from 
control,  when  all  the  riches  of  Clark's  Field,  now 
accumulating  in  the  trust  company's  pool,  should 
be  handed  over  to  them.  That  would  be,  indeed,  the 
ultimate  crisis  for  the  old  Field,  when,  having  been 
finally  transmuted  into  coin  of  the  realm,  it  should 
cease  to  have  an  entity  or  any  personal  relation  with 
the  Clark  race! 

Meantime  Archie  and  Adelle  were  not  vicious, 
though  Archie  drank  too  much  for  his  digestion 
and  was  often  peevish  in  consequence,  and  Adelle 
was  almost  aimless  and  lazy  enough  to  be  described 
as  vicious.  Yet  they  were  no  worse  than  many, 
many  other  well-to-do  young  persons  with  no  deep 
roots,  no  permanent  incentives,  no  profound  pas 
sions  to  give  them  significance.  Likely  enough  they 

241 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

might  have  ended  in  some  charming  English  coun 
try  house,  or  Roman  palace,  or  pink-and-white  villa 
along  the  Mediterranean,  —  if  their  fate  had  not 
been  still  involved  with  Clark's  Field.  They  would 
have  become  perfectly  respectable,  utterly  negligi 
ble  modern  citizens  of  the  world,  —  the  infertile  by 
product  of  a  rich  civilization  with  its  perfected  ma 
chinery  for  the  preservation  of  accumulated  wealth. 
There  are  more  Archies  and  Adelles  about  us  than 
is  commonly  recognized :  they  are  on  all  our  calling- 
lists,  in  every  European  capital  or  congregation  of 
expensive  country  homes.  Their  names  stud  the 
"blue  books"  and  the  "red  books"  of  conventional 
"society."  They  fill  the  great  hotels  and  the  mam 
moth  steamships.  They,  in  sum,  make  up  a  large 
part  of  that  fine  fruit  of  civilization  for  which  the 
immense  majority  toil,  and  for  whom  serious  people 
plan  and  legislate,  for  whom  laws  are  interpreted 
and  trust  companies  formed  in  order  to  handle  the 
money  they  themselves  are  incapable  of  controlling 
usefully,  even  of  safely  preserving.  .  .  . 

Archie  and  Adelle  were  hungry  at  this  period  for 
more  money  and  felt  themselves  martyrized  by  the 
whim  of  an  ill-natured  old  man  who  had  arbitrarily 
made  them  wait  to  be  wholly  happy.  They  talked 
perpetually  about  what  they  should  do  with  them 
selves  "after  "  the  great  event,  —  the  sort  of  touring- 
car  they  should  buy,  the  kind  of  establishment  they 
should  keep,  the  best  place  to  live  in,  etc.  It  must  be 
somewhere  in  Europe,  of  course,  for  neither  was  eager 

242 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  return  to  America  "where  everybody  worked  and 
there  was  nothing  fit  to  eat,"  according  to  Archie. 
Adelle's  ideas  of  America,  never  extensive,  were 
growing  dimmer  every  season,  and  the  occasional 
friends  who  returned  from  the  other  shore  described 
their  native  land  in  unflattering  terms.  Adelle 
thought  that  every  American  who  could  lived  as 
much  of  the  time  as  possible  somewhere  in  Europe, 
but  she  did  not  think  much  about  it  at  this  time. 

They  had  no  children.  Adelle  had  no  objections 
to  child-bearing  and  expected  "  some  time"  to  have 
"two  or  three"  children.  Archie  thought  there 
would  be  plenty  of  time  for  that  "later  on"  when 
they  had  their  money.  Adelle  was  still  very  young, 
and  in  the  present  wandering  state  of  their  life  chil 
dren  wrould  be  a  nuisance. 

Finally  they  were  neither  happy  nor  unhappy. 
Restless  was  the  adjective  that  described  them  most 
closely.  Their  bodies  and  stomachs  and  nerves  and 
minds  and  souls  were  always  in  a  state  of  disequili 
brium,  and  they  were  feeling  about  for  equilibrium 
like  blind  kittens  without  forming  any  successful 
plan  of  extricating  themselves  from  their  subcon 
scious  state  of  dissatisfaction.  With  another  order 
of  gray  matter  in  their  brains  either  one  might  have 
produced  out  of  this  disequilibrium  some  fine,  rare 
flower  of  form  or  color  or  words.  But  Archie's  gray 
matter,  like  Adelle's,  was  not  expressive. 

Their  friends  thought  them  happy  as  well  as  for 
tunate.  Sadie  Paul  reported  to  her  sister  and  Eve- 

243 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

line  Glynn,  —  "Dell  is  crazy  about  her  Archie  — 
she  won't  let  him  out  of  her  sight.  He's  not  such 
a  bad  sort,  but  fearfully  stuck  on  himself,  just  be 
cause  Dell  pets  him  so." 

Adelle,  as  she  frequently  told  Archie,  infinitely 
preferred  her  choice  to  Sadie's  "Black-and-Tan,"  as 
she  called  the  Count  Zornec. 

This  was  their  state  after  eighteen  months  of 
married  life. 


XXVII 

THE  trust  company  had  left  its  ward  severely  alone 
since  Mr.  Smith's  visit  to  Paris.  Like  punishing 
parents  they  seemed  resolved  to  let  Adelle  taste  the 
dregs  of  her  folly  by  herself.  Each  quarter  they  de 
posited  with  the  Paris  bankers  twelve  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  and  notified  them  not  to  honor  Mrs. 
Davis's  drafts  in  excess  of  this  amount.  It  was  au 
tomatic.  That  was  the  ideal  of  the  trust  company, 
as  it  is  of  many  private  persons,  to  reduce  life  to 
automatic  processes. 

But  as  the  day  drew  near  when  the  trust  company 
had  to  give  a  final  accounting  to  the  probate  court 
of  its  guardianship,  they  notified  Adelle  by  a  curt 
letter  that  her  presence  would  be  desirable.  There 
were  certain  matters  in  connection  with  her  assum 
ing  control  of  her  fortune  and  terminating  their  trust 
that  could  be  transacted  more  expeditiously  if  Mrs. 
Davis  would  present  herself  at  their  office  by  the  end 
of  May.  "  We  beg  to  remain,"  etc. 

The  suggestion  came  as  a  welcome  incentive  to 
the  young  couple.  Anything  that  might  expedite 
matters  was  to  their  taste.  They  had  talked  of  mak 
ing  a  visit  to  Archie's  relatives  and  introducing 
Adelle  to  the  modern  paradise  of  the  golden  slope 
and  at  the  same  time  visiting  the  Pauls.  And  so, 

245 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

about  the  middle  of  May,  the  Davises  took  ship  from 
Havre  for  the  New  World,  occupying,  in  deference 
to  their  coming  wealth,  an  expensive  deck  suite  in 
the  transatlantic  hotel,  and  thus  made  their  journey 
in  all  possible  comfort. 

They  arrived  in  B with  a  great  many  trunks 

that  contained  a  small  part  of  all  those  purchases 
which  Adelle  had  made;  also  with  a  dog  and  Adelle's 
maid.  Their  first  real  experience  of  their  American 
citizenship  came  naturally  at  the  dock.  Archie,  who 
had  lost  some  money  on  the  way  across,  and  was 
hazy  about  his  duties  and  rights  as  a  returning  citi 
zen,  had  put  in  an  absurd  declaration  for  the  cus 
toms  officers.  With  their  formidable  array  of  trunks 
the  couple  presented  at  once  a  vulnerable  aspect  to 
the  inspectors,  and  long  after  the  procession  of 
travelers  had  scurried  away  in  cabs,  Archie  and 
Adelle  were  left,  hot  and  uncomfortable,  trying  to 
"explain"  their  false  declaration.  Adelle,  who  was 
not  usually  untruthful,  lied  shamelessly  about  the 
prices  she  had  paid  for  things.  "It  cost  just  noth 
ing  at  all,  —  twenty  francs,"  she  declared  as  the 
officer  held  forth  some  article  whose  real  value  he 
knew  perfectly  well.  Adelle  lost  her  assurance,  shed 
tears  of  shame ;  Archie  lost  his  temper  and  swore  at 
the  officer  for  insulting  his  wife,  and  in  consequence 
every  article  in  the  fourteen  pieces  of  baggage  was 
dumped  upon  the  dock  while  a  grinning  audience  of 
inspectors,  reporters,  and  stevedores  gathered  about 
the  unhappy  pair. 

246 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"What  a  country!"  Archie  fumed  while  the  in 
spector  was  summoning  his  superior  officer. 

"No  wonder  Americans  prefer  to  live  abroad," 
he  remarked  loftily  to  a  convenient  reporter,  who 
was  preparing  copy  with  his  eager  eyes. 

"We  won't  live  here,  will  we! "  Adelle  chorused  to 
her  husband. 

"Not  much!" 

"To  treat  decent  people  like  this,  just  because 
they  have  a  few  clothes  and  things.  What  do  they 
take  us  for  —  hoboes?"  Archie  continued. 

He  forgot  that  he  had  departed  from  his  native 
land  a  scant  two  years  before  with  a  lean  dress- 
suit  case  and  a  small  trunk.  Also  that  his  wife  and 
indirectly  himself  were  among  the  beneficiaries  of 
the  law  they  had  tried  to  evade.  The  reporter,  who 
had  appraised  the  pair  more  expeditiously  than  the 
inspector  had  their  goods,  hypocritically  drew  them 
out,  asking  their  opinion  of  America  and  Americans, 
which  Archie  set  forth  volubly. 

When  the  inspectors  finally  came  upon  deposits 
of  Adelle's  jewelry  which  she  had  skillfully  con 
cealed  in  the  toes  of  her  shoes,  they  declared  the 
game  off  and  sent  all  the  trunks  forthwith  to  the 
stores.  Their  case  was  so  serious  that  it  must  be 
dealt  with  specially.  The  pair  finally  left  the  dock, 
much  chagrined,  feeling  as  nearly  like  common  crim 
inals  as  they  were  ever  likely  to  feel;  indeed,  some 
what  frightened  and  much  less  voluble  in  protest, 
whatever  their  opinion  of  their  fatherland  might 

247 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

still  be.  It  was  evidently  a  serious  affair  they  had 
got  themselves  in  for  by  their  perfectly  natural  de 
sire  to  save  a  few  dollars  at  the  expense  of  the  Gov 
ernment. 

The  next  morning  when  they  awoke  in  the  Eclair 

Hotel,  which  still  remained  B 's  best  hostelry, 

where  they  had  consoled  themselves  by  taking  an 
expensive  suite  and  ordering  a  good  dinner,  they 
found  that  their  arrival  in  America  was  not  un 
heralded.  The  reporter  had  not  been  idle.  His  de 
scription  of  Archie  was  unkind,  and  his  satirical 
report  of  the  couple's  sayings  and  doings  was  un 
friendly.  He  had  somehow  discovered  Adelle's  con 
nection  with  Clark's  Field,  the  story  of  which  in  a 
much  garbled  form  he  gave  to  the  public  and  inci 
dentally  doubled  the  size  of  her  fortune,  —  "drawn 
from  one  of  the  most  unblushing  pieces  of  real  es 
tate  promotion  this  State  has  ever  seen."  Altogether 
it  was  the  kind  of  article  to  make  the  conservative 
gentlemen  of  the  Washington  Trust  Company  very 
unhappy.  When  they  read  it  they  wished  again  that 
they  had  never  seen  Adelle. 

Other  papers  took  up  the  scent  of  the  "Morning 
Herald,"  and  for  a  week  Archie  and  Adelle  were 
thoroughly  introduced  to  the  American  people  as 
an  idle  pair,  of  immense  inherited  wealth,  who  had 
failed  in  their  attempt  to  defraud  the  custom  house 
of  a  few  thousand  dollars.  This  affair  kept  them 
busy  for  the  better  part  of  a  week,  and  was  fin 
ally  settled  without  prosecution  when  the  collector 

248 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

became  convinced  that  no  serious  wrong  had 
been  plotted  by  Archie  and  Adelle.  He  gave  them 
both  a  little  lecture,  which  they  received  in  a 
humbler  frame  of  mind  than  they  had  shown  at  the 
dock. 

Archie  rather  enjoyed  the  newspaper  notoriety 
that  his  marriage  to  the  heiress  of  Clark's  Field  was 
bringing  him.  He  entertained  the  reporters  affably 
at  the  hotel  bar,  and  established  a  reputation  for  not 
being  a  "snob,"  though  so  much  of  a  "swell."  In 
fact  he  was  a  much  less  uncouth  specimen  than 
when  Adelle  had  first  encountered  him  in  the  Paris 
studio.  A  year  and  a  half  of  ease  and  petting  had 
served  to  smooth  off  those  more  obvious  roughnesses 
that  had  caused  Irene  Paul  to  describe  him  as  a 
"bounder."  He  was  fashionably  dressed  according 
to  the  Anglo-French  style,  and  fortunately  did  not 
affect  soft  shirts  or  flowing  ties  or  eccentric  head 
gear,  or  any  other  of  the  traditional  marks  of  the 
artist.  Lounging  in  the  luxurious  hotel  corridor, 
he  looked  like  any  well-to-do  young  American  of 
twenty-seven  or  eight.  His  bright  red  hair  and  small 
waxed  mustache,  and  his  habit  of  dangling  a  small 
cane,  perhaps,  were  the  only  distinguishing  marks 
about  him.  After  the  customs  case  had  been  dis 
posed  of,  Archie  found  time  hanging  on  his  hands. 
Adelle  was  occupied  with  the  trust  company  and  all 
the  formalities  she  had  to  go  through  with  before 
she  could  actually  lay  her  hands  upon  her  fortune. 
Archie  read  the  lighter  magazines  and  loafed  about 

249 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

jthe  streets  of  B ,  peering  up  through  his  glasses 

at  the  lofty  buildings,  and  imbibing  more  cocktails 
and  other  varieties  of  American  stimulants  than  was 
good  for  him. 


XXVIII 

ADELLE  was  distinctly  roused  by  her  return  to 
America  and  all  the  memories  awakened  at  the  sight 
of  familiar  streets,  the  home  of  the  Washington 
Trust  Company,  and  the  probate  court  whither  she 
was  obliged  to  go.  Judge  Orcutt  was  still  sitting  on 
the  bench  and  seemed  to  her  to  be  exactly  as  she  re 
membered  him,  only  grayer  and  a  little  more  bent 
over  his  high  bench.  He  was  still  that  courteous, 
slightly  distant  gentleman  from  another  age,  whose 
mind  behind  the  dreamy  eyes  seemed  eternally 
occupied  with  larger  matters  than  the  admin 
istration  and  disposal  of  human  property.  He  re 
membered  Adelle,  or  professed  to,  and  gave  her  a 
kindly  old  man's  smile  when  he  shook  hands  with 
her,  in  spite  of  all  the  reclame  of  her  indecorous  re 
turn  to  her  native  land.  He  said  nothing  of  that, 
however,  but  refreshed  his  memory  by  consulting 
a  little  book  where  he  entered  all  sorts  of  curious 
items  not  strictly  legal  that  occurred  to  him  in  con 
nection  with  important  cases.  From  these  pages  he 
easily  revived  all  the  details  of  Adelle,  her  aunt,  and 
the  now  famous  Clark's  Field. 

Looking  up  from  his  book,  he  scrutinized  with 
unusual  interest  the  young  woman  who  had  come 
before  him  after  an  absence  of  seven  years.  He  was 

251 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

reflecting,  perhaps,  that,  although  she  was  unaware 
of  the  fact,  he  had  played  the  part  to  her  in  an  im 
portant  crisis  of  a  wise  and  beneficent  Providence. 
In  all  likelihood  he  had  preserved  for  her  the  chance 
of  possessing  the  large  fortune  which  she  was  about 
to  receive  with  his  approval  from  the  Washington 
Trust  Company.  No  wonder  that  he  looked  keenly 
at  the  young  woman  standing  before  him!  What 
was  she  now?  What  had  she  done  with  herself  these 
seven  crucial  years  of  her  life  to  prepare  herself  for 
her  good  fortune  and  justify  his  care  of  her  interests? 
How  had  the  enjoyment  of  ease  and  the  expectation 
of  coming  wealth,  with  all  its  opening  of  gates  and 
widening  of  horizons,  affected  little  Adelle  Clark  — 
the  insignificant  drudge  from  the  Alton  rooming- 
house?  .  .  . 

Judge  Orcutt  no  longer  published  thin  volumes  of 
poetry.  The  bar  said  that  he  was  now  devoting  him 
self  more  seriously  to  his  profession.  The  truth  was, 
perhaps,  that  in  face  of  his  accumulating  knowledge 
of  life  and  human  beings,  he  no  longer  had  the  incen 
tive  to  write  lyrics.  The  poetry,  however,  was  there 
ineradicably  in  his  soul,  affecting  his  judgments, — 
the  lawyers  still  called  him  "cranky"  or  "erratic," 
-  and  giving  even  to  routine  judicial  acts  a  signi 
ficance  and  dignity  little  suspected  by  the  careless 
practitioners  in  his  court.  .  .  .  And  so  this  elderly 
gentleman,  for  he  had  crossed  the  sixty  mark  by  now, 
recalled  the  timid,  pale-faced,  undersized  girl,  with 
her  "common"  aunt,  who  seven  years  before  had 

252 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

appeared  in  his  court  and  to  whom  he  had  been  the 
instrument  of  giving  riches.  What  had  she  done  with 
the  golden  spoon  he  had  thrust  into  her  mouth  and 
what  would  she  do  with  it  now?  Ah,  that  was  al 
ways  the  question  with  these  inheritances  which  he 
was  called  upon  to  administer  according  to  the  com 
plicated  rules  of  law  —  and  the  law  books  afforded 
no  answer  to  such  questions!  .  .  . 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  with  one  of  his  beautiful 
smiles  that  seemed  to  irradiate  the  "case"  before 
him  with  its  personal  kindliness  and  sympathy,  "so 
you  have  been  living  in  Europe  the  last  few  years 
and  are  now  married?" 

Adelle  said  "yes"  to  both  questions,  while  the 
trust  officer  who  had  accompanied  her  to  court  — 
not  our  Mr.  Ashly  Crane  —  fussed  inwardly  because 
he  saw  that  Judge  Orcutt  was  in  one  of  his  "wander 
ing"  and  leisurely  moods,  and  might  detain  them  to 
discourse  upon  Europe  or  anything  that  happened 
into  his  mind  before  signing  the  necessary  order. 
But  after  this  introduction,  the  judge  was  silent, 
while  his  smile  still  lingered  in  the  gaze  he  directed 
to  the  young  woman  before  him. 

Adelle,  as  has  been  amply  admitted  in  these  pages, 
was  neither  beautiful  nor  compelling.  But  she  was 
very  different  indeed  from  the  small,  shabby  girl 
of  fourteen.  She  was  taller,  with  a  well-trained  fig 
ure  that  showed  the  efforts  of  all  the  deft  maids  and 
skillful  dressmakers  through  which  it  had  passed. 
She  was  dressed  in  the  very  height  of  the  prevailing 

253 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

fashions  —  a  high-water  mark  of  eccentricity  that 
Judge  Orcutt  rarely  encountered  in  the  staid  circles 

of  the  good  city  of  B .  Her  skirt  was  slit  so  as  to 

accentuate  all  there  was  of  hips,  and  the  bodice  did 
the  same  for  the  bust.  And  the  hat  —  well,  even  in 
New  York  its  long  aigrette  and  daring  folds  had 
caused  women  to  look  around  in  the  streets.  She 
carried  in  one  hand  a  large  bunch  of  mauve  orchids 
and  wore  an  abundance  of  chains  and  coarse,  bi 
zarre  jewelry.  Her  face  was  still  pale,  and  the  gray 
eyes  were  almost  as  empty  of  expression  as  they  had 
been  seven  years  before.  But  altogether  Adelle 
was  chic  and  modern,  as  she  felt  with  satisfaction,  of 
a  type  that  might  find  more  approval  in  Paris  than 
in  America,  where  a  pretty  face  and  fresh  coloring 
still  win  distinction.  She  was  new  all  over  from  head 
to  foot,  of  a  loud,  hard  newness  that  gave  the  im 
pression  of  impertinence,  even  defiance. 

This  was  accentuated  by  Adelle's  new  manner  — 
the  one  that  had  grown  upon  her  ever  since  her 
elopement.  Then  she  had  taken  a  great  step  in  de 
fiance  of  authority,  and  to  support  her  self-asser 
tion  she  had  put  on  this  defiant  manner,  of  conscious 
indifference  to  expected  criticism.  It  was  the  note 
of  her  period,  moreover,  to  flaunt  independence,  to 
push  things  to  extremes.  Needless  to  say  that  in 
Adelle's  case  it  had  been  further  emphasized  by  the 
episode  with  the  customs  officers.  Here  again  she 
had  defied  recognized  authorities  and  got  into  trou 
ble  over  it;  indeed,  had  become  mildly  notorious  in 

254 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  newspapers.  The  only  way  she  could  carry  off 
her  mistake  and  her  notoriety  was,  like  a  child,  by 
exaggerating  her  nonchalance.  Thus  she  had  met 
President  West  and  the  other  officers  of  the  trust 
company.  Alone  —  for  as  usual  Archie  had  evaded 
the  disagreeable  —  she  had  met  them  in  their  tem 
ple  and  felt  their  frigid  disapprobation  of  her  and 
all  her  ways.  She  had  carried  it  off  by  forcing  her 
note,  "throwing  it  into  the  old  boy/'  as  she  de 
scribed  it  to  Archie,  with  all  the  loud  clothes,  the 
loud  manners  she  had  at  her  command,  and  she 
knew  that  she  had  succeeded  in  making  a  very  bad 
impression  upon  the  trust  company's  president.  She 
felt  that  she  did  not  care  —  he  was  nothing  to  her. 

In  the  same  defiant  mood  and  with  the  same  "war 
paint"  she  had  entered  Judge  Orcutt's  court  and 
answered  his  preliminary  questions.  But  she  felt  ill 
at  ease,  rather  miserable  under  his  kindly,  heart- 
searching  gaze.  She  wished  that  she  hadn't:  she 
wanted  to  blush  and  drop  her  eyes.  Instead  she  re 
turned  his  look  out  of  her  still,  gray  eyes  with  a  fas 
cinated  stare. 

At  last  the  smile  faded  from  the  judge's  lips,  and 
he  withdrew  his  gaze  from  the  bizarre  figure  before 
him.  He  asked  in  a  brisker  tone  with  several  shades 
less  of  personal  interest,  — 

41  Your  husband  is  with  you?" 

"No,"  she  stammered  uncomfortably,  realizing 
that  Archie  was  again  evading. 

He  was  outside  lolling  in  the  motor  that  they  had 
255 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

hired  by  the  day,  fooling  with  Adelle's  lapdog  and 
getting  through  the  time  as  best  he  could.  Adelle 
so  informed  the  judge,  who  received  the  news  with 
a  slight  frown  and  proceeded  to  the  business  before 
them.  The  trust  officer  thought  that  now  matters 
would  be  expedited,  but  the  judge  disappointed  him. 
After  taking  his  pen  to  sign  the  papers,  he  kept  his 
hand  upon  them,  and  clearing  his  throat  addressed 
Adelle. 

"Mrs.  Davis,"  he  began  in  formal  tones,  "you 
first  came  into  my  court  seven  years  ago,  with  your 
aunt,  at  the  time  of  your  uncle's  death  —  you  re 
member,  doubtless?" 

Adelle  said  "yes"  faintly. 

"As  your  mother's  only  heir,  and  owing  to  the 
death  of  your  aunt  the  following  year  who  left  you 
her  sole  heir,  you  became  vested  with  all  the  known 
interest  in  certain  valuable  real  estate  that  had  be 
longed  to  your  ancestors  for  many  generations  — 
what  was  known  then  as  'Clark's  Field/  As  you 
are  probably  aware,  this  property,  after  many  years 
of  disuse  and  much  litigation,  has  finally  been  cleared 
as  to  title  and  put  upon  the  market.  It  has  been  sold, 
or  much  of  it,  for  large  prices.  For  in  all  these  years 
its  value  has  very  greatly  increased  —  ten  and 
twenty  fold." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  then  with  an  unaccus 
tomed  sternness  he  resumed,  — 

"  Clark's  Field  is  no  longer  the  pasture  land  of  an 
outlying  farm.  In  the  course  of  all  these  years  the 

256 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

city  has  grown  up  to  it  and  around  it.  Generations 
of  men  have  been  born,  come  into  activity,  and  died, 
increasing  in  numbers  all  the  time,  demanding  more 
and  more  room  for  homes  and  places  of  business. 
Thus  the  value  of  real  estate  has  greatly  risen,  lat 
terly  doubling  and  trebling  almost  each  year." 

He  stopped  again,  and  the  bored  trust  officer 
thought,  "The  old  fellow  is  worse  than  ever  to-day 

—  getting  positively  dotty  —  likes  to  hear  himself 
talk."  .  .  . 

"For  thus,"  resumed  the  judge  slowly,  impres 
sively,  "is  the  nature  of  man,  of  the  civilization  he 
has  created.  Men  must  have  room  —  land  to  grow 
upon;  and  that  which  was  of  little  or  no  value  be 
comes  by  the  economic  accidents  of  life  of  exceed 
ingly  great  importance  because  of  its  necessity  to 
the  race.  .  .  .  Your  forefathers,  Mrs.  Davis,  got  their 
own  living  from  the  farm  of  which  this  piece  of  land 

—  Clark's  Field  —  was  a  part;  a  meager  living  for 
themselves  and  their  families  they  got  by  tilling  the 
poor  soil.    They  were  content  with  taking  a  living 
out  of  it  for  themselves  and  their  families.    Indeed, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  your  own  grandfather  was 
anxious  to  sell  this  same  field,  which  was  all  that 
was  left  to  him  of  the  ancestral  farm,  for  a  compara 
tively  small  sum  of  ready  money  —  five  thousand 
dollars." 

Adelle  had  time  to  reflect  that  this  was  the  exact 
sum  on  which  she  and  Archie  had  tried  to  live  for  a 
year,  with  considerable  inconvenience.  But  then 

257 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

everybody  said  times  had  changed,  and  you  could  n't 
do  now  with  a  thousand  dollars  what  you  could 
once. 

"Fortunately  for  you,  Mrs.  Davis,"  the  judge  was 
saying  with  a  dry  little  smile,  "your  grandfather 
was  unable  to  carry  out  his  intention  of  disposing 
of  Clark's  Field  for  five  thousand  dollars.  Nor  were 
your  mother  and  her  brother  —  his  children  —  more 
successful  in  selling  their  ancestral  estate,  although 
I  believe  they  made  many  attempts  to  do  so.  There 
were  legal  obstructions  in  the  way,  of  which  doubt 
less  you  have  heard.  But  at  the  very  close  of  your 
uncle's  life  he  had  entered  into  an  agreement  with 
some  real  estate  speculators  to  dispose  of  his  equity 
in  the  property  and  of  yours  also  —  you  being  his 
ward  —  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  —  I  be 
lieve  that  was  the  sum." 

Judge  Orcutt  put  on  his  glasses  and  consulted  his 
little  book,  laid  the  glasses  down,  and  repeated  re 
flectively,  — 

"Yes,  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars!  And  he 
had  so  far  carried  out  his  intention  that  had  he  lived 
but  a  few  weeks  longer  there  would  not  have  re 
mained  a  foot  of  Clark's  Field  belonging  now  to 
any  of  the  Clark  family." 

Poor  uncle!  Adelle  thought.  He  was  very  little 
good  in  the  world. 

"Twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  Mrs.  Davis,  is  a 
considerable  sum  of  money,  but  it  is  a  small  mess  of 
pottage  compared  with  what  awaits  you  in  the  hands 

258 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

of  the  Washington  Trust  Company.     Let  me  see 
how  much  the  estate  amounts  to  now!" 

Hereupon  the  trust  officer  handed  to  the  judge  an 
inventory  of  the  estate,  which  the  judge  ran  over 
through  his  glasses,  muttering  the  items,  —  "Stocks, 
bonds,  mortgages,  interest  in  the  Clark's  Field  Asso 
ciates,"  etc. 

At  last  he  laid  the  paper  aside,  and  looking  up 
announced  in  grave  tones,  — 

"  Itcomes  very  near  being  five  millions  of  dollars." 

Adelle  had  already  been  told  the  figures  by  the 
trust  company,  but  in  the  mouth  of  the  probate 
judge  the  sum  took  on  a  new  solemnity. 

"Five  millions  of  dollars,"  he  repeated  slowly. 
"Even  in  our  day  of  large  accumulations,  that  is  a 
very  considerable  sum  of  money,  Mrs.  Davis.  It 
is  just  one  thousand  times  more  than  the  amount 
your  grandfather  hoped  to  derive  from  the  same 
piece  of  property." 

The  trust  officer  smiled,  and  thrusting  his  hands 
deep  into  his  trousers'  pockets  gazed  at  the  ceiling. 
Of  course  five  millions  was  a  lot  of  cash,  but  the  judge 
seemed  to  forget  the  hour  in  which  they  were,  when 
everyday  transactions  involved  millions.  The  young 
woman,  who  had  expensive  tastes,  would  not  find 
the  income  of  five  millions  such  a  huge  fortune  to 
spend.  She  did  n't  look  as  if  she  would  have  any 
trouble  in  spending  it,  nor  the  red-headed  chap  she 
had  married.  Still  a  comfortable  little  fortune,  all 
in  "gilt-edge  stuff."  .  .  . 

259 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Your  estate  represents  an  increment  in  value  of 
one  thousand  per  cent  in  —  let  me  see  —  a  little 
over  forty-five  years,  less  than  fifty  years,  less  than 
a  lifetime,  less  than  my  own  lifetime!" 

Here  the  judge  seemed  to  come  to  a  dead  stop, 
forgetting  himself  in  reverie.  But  rousing  himself 
suddenly  he  asked  Adelle,  — 

"Have  you  ever  seen  Clark's  Field?" 

Adelle  thought  she  remembered  being  taken  there 
as  a  young  girl  by  her  aunt. 

"I  mean  have  you  been  there  recently,  since  it 
has  been  subdivided  and  brought  into  human  use?" 

No,  she  had  not  been  in  Alton  since  her  return  to 
America,  in  fact  not  for  seven  years. 

"Then,  Mrs.  Davis,"  the  judge  said  very  ear 
nestly,  almost  sternly,  "I  most  strongly  advise  you 
to  go  there  at  once  and  see  what  has  happened  to 
your  grandfather's  old  pasture.  Look  at  the  source 
of  your  wealth !  It  must  interest  you  deeply,  I  should 
think!  The  changes  that  you  will  find  in  Clark's 
Field  are  very  great,  the  spiritual  changes  even 
greater  than  the  physical  ones,  perhaps.  Go  to 
Clark's  Field,  by  all  means,  before  you  leave  the 
city.  Go  at  once !  And  take  your  husband  with  you. 
.  .  .  And  now,  Mr.  Niver,"  he  said  to  the  aston 
ished  trust  officer,  "if  you  have  all  the  papers  — 
yes,  I  have  examined  the  inventory  of  the  estate 
sufficiently.  Mr.  Smith  brought  it  to  me  some  time 
ago."  .  .  . 

There  followed  certain  legal  exchanges  between 
260 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  court  and  the  trust  officer,  while  Adelle  thought 
over  what  the  judge  had  said  to  her  about  Clark's 
Field  and  felt  rather  queer,  uncomfortably  so,  as 
if  the  probate  judge  had  distilled  a  subtle  medicine 
in  her  cup  of  joy,  or  had  clouded  the  clear  horizon 
of  her  young  life  with  a  mysterious  veil  of  unintel 
ligible  considerations.  Yet  he  seemed  to  be,  as  she 
had  always  thought  him,  a  good  old  man,  and  wise. 
And  he  was  making  no  trouble  about  giving  her  and 
Archie  the  money  they  so  much  wanted  to  have. 
Even  now  he  was  writing  his  signature  with  the 
old-fashioned  steel  pen  he  used,  a  clear,  beautiful 
signature,  upon  several  documents.  As  he  finished 
the  last  one,  he  glanced  up  at  her  and  with  another 
of  his  fine  smiles,  as  if  he  wished  to  reassure  her  after 
his  little  sermon,  said  to  Adelle,  — 

"Now,  Mrs.  Davis,  it  is  yours,  —  your  own  prop 
erty,  to  do  with  as  you  will.  You  are  no  longer  a 
ward  of  my  court!" 

He  rose  from  his  judge's  chair  and  took  her  hand, 
which  he  held  a  trifle  longer  than  necessary,  smiling 
down  upon  the  woman-girl,  his  lips  apparently  form 
ing  themselves  for  another  little  speech,  but  he  did 
not  utter  it.  Instead,  he  dropped  Adelle's  hand  and 
with  a  nod  of  dismissal  turned  into  his  chambers. 
So  Adelle  left  the  probate  court,  as  she  thought  for 
the  last  time,  wondering  what  the  judge  wanted 
to  say  to  her,  but  had  refrained  from  speaking. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know,  also,  what  were 
the  entries  that  Judge  Orcutt  made  in  his  little  note- 

261 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

book  upon  this,  his  final  official  act  in  the  Clark's 
Field  drama.  But  that  we  have  no  means  of  dis 
covering.  All  legal  requirements  had  been  duly  ful 
filled,  and  everything  else  must  remain  within  the 
judge's  breast  for  his  own  spiritual  nourishment  — 
and  for  Adelle's  if  she  could  divine  what  he  meant. 


XXIX 

WHEN  Adelle  reached  the  street  she  found  Archie 
lolling  in  the  car,  across  the  way,  in  the  shade  of  a 
tall  building.  At  her  appearance  he  yawned  and 
stretched  his  cramped  legs. 

"It  took  you  an  awful  time,"  he  grumbled  to  his 
wife.  "What  was  the  trouble?" 

"Nothing,"  Adelle  replied. 

As  she  got  into  the  car  she  gave  the  driver  an 
order,  —  "Go  out  to  Alton." 

"Where's  that?"  Archie  inquired. 

"A  little  way  out  —  across  the  river,"  Adelle 
informed  him. 

"What  do  you  want  to  go  there  for  —  it's  nearly 
lunch-time,"  Archie  demurred. 

"I'm  going  out  to  see  Clark's  Field,"  Adelle  re 
plied  succinctly. 

Archie  knew  vaguely  that  the  Field  had  something 
to  do  with  his  wife's  fortune,  but  understood  that  it 
had  been  mostly  "cashed  in"  as  he  would  phrase  it. 

"What's  your  hurry?"  Archie  objected.  "We  can 
go  out  there  some  other  time  just  as  well." 

But  for  once  Archie  was  compelled  to  bend  to  a 
superior  purpose  and  endure  being  bumped  over 
the  rough  pavements  of  the  city  out  to  the  old  South 
Road,  which  was  still  cut  up  badly  by  heavy  team- 

263 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

ing  as  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  the  farmers'  market 
carts,  and  which  also  swarmed  with  huge  trolley 
boxes  and  motor  trucks  and  pedestrians.  For  Alton 
was  now  merely  a  lively  industrial  quarter  of  the 
' '  greater ' '  city.  In  addition  to  the  old  stove-works  of 
enduring  fame  there  were  also  foundries  and  fac 
tories  and  mills.  The  old,  leisurely  "Square"  had 
become  a  knot  of  squalid  arteries  radiating  into  this 
human  hive.  Life  teemed  all  over,  swarmed  upon 
the  pavements,  hung  from  the  high  tenement  win 
dows,  infested  the  strange  delicatessen  and  drink 
shops,  many  of  which  bore  foreign  names.  Most 
marvelous  fact  of  all  was  that  the  thin,  pale  Ameri 
can  type,  of  which  Adelle  herself  was  an  example, 
had  largely  disappeared  from  the  Alton  streets,  and 
in  its  place  there  were  members  from  pretty  nearly 
all  the  races  of  the  earth,  —  Greeks,  Poles,  Slavs, 
Persians,  —  especially  Italians.  Many  a  sturdy 
young  woman,  with  bare  brown  arms  and  glossy 
black  hair,  strode  along,  hatless  and  unashamed,  on 
her  way  to  shop  or  mill  through  the  streets  where 
Addie  Clark  had  sidled  with  prim  consciousness  of 
her  "place"  in  society.  Archie  remarked  the  grow 
ing  cosmopolitanism  of  his  native  land  with  strong 
expressions  of  disapproval. 

"It  looks  like  a  slum, ' '  he  grumbled.  ' '  And  noth 
ing  but  dagoes  in  it.  What  a  place !  —  and  what 
scum ! "  he  commented  frankly  upon  his  wife's  birth 
place.  "Was  it  like  this  when  you  lived  here?"  he 
asked  pityingly. 

264 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Not  so  much,"  she  said  quietly,  not  knowing 
why  she  disliked  his  tone  and  his  comment  upon  the 
present  population  of  Alton. 

"They  ought  to  do  something  to  prevent  all  this 
foreign  trash  from  swarming  over  here,"  Archie  ob 
served. 

He  did  not  reflect,  nor  did  Adelle,  that  this  "for 
eign  scum"  had  come  to  replace  his  race  because  he 
and  his  kind  refused  any  longer  to  do  the  hard  labor 
of  the  world.  If  he  had  been  of  a  more  serious  turn  of 
mind,  he  would  have  joined  the  anti- Immigration 
League  and  raised  the  patriotic  slogan  of  "America 
for  Americans!" 

Adelle  made  no  reply  to  his  remarks.  She  sat 
silent  in  her  corner  of  the  car,  glancing  intently  at 
the  old  scenes  that  were  so  new  and  unexpected. 
From  time  to  time  she  directed  the  chauffeur  when 
he  was  in  doubt,  the  old  turnings  of  the  streets  com 
ing  back  to  her  with  astonishing  sureness.  At  last, 
at  Shepard  Street,  she  told  him  to  turn  off  the  South 
Road,  and  at  once  they  were  in  the  maze  of  brick 
and  mortar  that  had  been  Clark's  Field,  —  the  old 
Clark  pasture.  The  bulky  car  had  to  move  slowly 
through  the  narrow  streets,  much  to  the  driver's  im 
patience,  and  he  had  frequently  to  toot  his  horn  or 
screech  his  raucous  Claxton  to  warn  the  pedestrians 
to  make  way  for  the  visitors.  The  children  crawled 
off  the  streets  with  the  instinctive  unconcern  of  fa 
miliarity  with  traffic;  the  bareheaded  women  and 
dark-faced  men  scowlingly  gave  the  chariot  of  the 

265 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

rich  space  to  proceed.  So  they  threaded  the  lanes 
and  the  cross-streets  that  ribbed  the  old  Field, 
crossing  it  twice  and  completely  circling  it  once, 
until  Archie  was  in  a  state  of  vocal  rebellion  at  the 
stench,  the  squalor,  the  ugliness  of  the  place. 

But  Adelle  looked  and  looked  with  unwonted  curi 
osity.  In  her  European  wanderings  she  had  pene 
trated  by  necessity  or  accident  similar  industrial 
neighborhoods,  where  human  beings  swarmed  and 
life  was  ugly,  only  to  escape  as  soon  as  possible.  But 
this  time  she  did  not  wish  to  hurry.  Clark's  Field 
seemed  different  to  her  from  anything  else  she  had 
ever  seen. 

It  was  all  new,  and  yet  in  the  way  of  slums  it  was 
immemorially  ancient  at  the  same  time,  as  if  the 
members  of  old  races  tha£  had  come  to  fill  it  had 
brought  with  them  all  the  grime,  all  the  dreariness 
of  generations  of  bitter  living.  And  it  was  this, 
rather  than  the  marvelous  transformation  of  the 
sandy  field  which  Adelle  dimly  remembered,  that 
seized  hold  of  her.  How  could  people  live  so  thickly 
together,  swarm  like  flies  in  so  many  identical  door 
ways,  get  along  with  so  little  air  or  sunshine  or  free 
dom  of  movement! 

"  Packed  like  rotting  sardines,"  was  Archie's  sneer 
ing  comment. 

Artificially  packed,  too,  scientifically  packed  in 
an  up-to-date  manner,  and  all  in  the  space  of  a  few 
years!  Modern  magic  they  said  of  things  like  this, 
and  took  a  strange  blind  pride  in  it.  Even  Archie 

266 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

observed  with  curiosity,  —  "They  must  have  been  a 
busy  little  bunch  that  got  this  up  so  quickly!" 

Indeed,  the  Washington  Trust  Company,  under 
the  thin  disguise  of  the  Clark's  Field  Associates,  had 
shown  great  shrewdness  and  ingenuity  in  "develop 
ing"  the  fifty-acre  tract  so  that  the  greatest  possible 
sum  could  be  extracted  from  its  lean  soil.  They  had 
resisted  all  temptations  to  open  it  as  "a  residential 
section  "  of  the  growing  city.  They  knew  that  Alton 
was  condemned  to  the  coarser  uses  of  society  and 
must  be  an  industrial  slum.  So  they  had  sold  a  small 
portion  in  one  corner  to  a  steel  foundry  —  one  of  the 
subsidiaries  of  a  great  corporation.  And  then  they 
developed  the  remainder  for  the  use  of  the  opera 
tives  gathered  together  from  all  parts  of  the  earth. 
The  choicest  lots  they  reserved  for  "future  growth." 
Along  the  broad  South  Road  they  built  substantial 
brick  buildings  for  stores  and  offices.  In  the  nest  of 
by-streets  that  ribbed  the  tract  they  erected  lofty 
tenement  warrens,  as  closely  packed  as  the  law  al 
lows,  —  not  the  lowest  order  of  tenement,  to  be 
sure,  because  in  the  long  run  such  buildings  do  not 
make  a  good  investment ;  but  a  slightly  higher  class 
of  brick,  bathroomed,  three-  and  four- room  tene 
ments,  from  the  rear  of  which  flowed  out  long 
streamers  of  clothes  drying  in  the  wind.  For  the 
most  part  Clark's  Field  had  thus  received  its  "de 
velopment."  That  which  had  agitated  a  number  of 
generations  of  Alton  citizens  had  been  accomplished. 
For  a  considerable  term  of  years  Clark's  Field  would 

267 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

not  change  in  character  unless  a  disturbance  of  un 
expected  magnitude  should  wipe  clean  the  ground 
for  men  to  plan  anew. 

As  I  have  said,  Clark's  Field  was  now  an  indus 
trial  slum,  but  its  character  was  not  as  bad  as  much 
else  in  the  cities  of  men.  There  are  far  worse  places 
in  London  or  New  York  or  Chicago  —  even  in  such 
smaller  cities  as  Pittsburg  and  Liverpool  —  for 
filth,  crowding,  and  gloom.  Age  added  to  cheapness 
increases  misery  and  squalor,  and  Clark's  Field  was 
still  an  infant.  Indeed,  the  promoters  of  Clark's 
Field  were  proud  of  their  achievement  and  adver 
tised  it  as  the  last  and  most  enlightened  example  of 
wholesale,  industrial  housing.  But  as  Archie  felt 
about  it,  the  place  was  worse  really  than  the  more 
celebrated  slums  of  older  cities  in  its  pretentious 
cheapness,  its  dreary  monotony  and  colorlessness, 
its  very  respectability  and  smug  tediousness.  A  life 
dropped  into  its  maze  and  growing  up  in  it  must  be 
lost  for  good  and  all  —  must  become  just  another 
human  ant  crawling  over  Clark's  Field,  with  the 
habits  and  coloring  of  all  the  other  human  ants  striv 
ing  there  for  life  and  happiness.  Archie,  perhaps, 
felt  this  cramped  and  deadening  atmosphere  more 
keenly  than  Adelle,  and  he  prided  himself  on  his 
greater  sensitiveness.  He  thanked  God  that  he  had 
come  from  the  broad  sunny  vineyards  of  the  Golden 
State,  where  life  still  touches  the  arcadian  age,  — 
not  from  this,  as  his  wife  had!  His  two  years  of 
foreign  rambling  had  educated  him  into  a  prideful 

268 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

sense  of  American  vulgarity  and  hideousness  of  de 
tail. 

Adelle  seemed  wholly  absorbed  in  the  bricks  and 
mortar  laid  upon  old  Clark's  Field.  She  did  not 
speak.  It  would  be  impossible  to  say  what  she  was 
thinking  of.  ...  At  last,  as  they  emerged  from  an 
other  long  stretch  of  narrow  street  bordered  on  either 
side  by  high  tenements  that  were  varied  according  to 
a  machine  pattern  by  different  colored  bricks,  Archie 
protested.  He  growled,  —  "Well,  haven't  you  seen 
enough  of  this  sort  of  thing  to  last  you  awhile?" 

Adelle  gave  the  order  to  retrace  their  journey  to 
the  hotel.  She  looked  back  into  the  dreary  maze 
with  her  wide  gray  eyes,  and  now  they  were  not  quite 
empty  eyes  as  they  had  been  in  the  probate  court 
room.  She  looked  and  looked  as  if  she  were  seeing 
the  past  as  well  as  the  present,  as  if  she  were  trying 
to  fathom  what  Judge  Orcutt  had  meant.  When 
the  Field  faded  into  the  distance  behind  the  rapid 
car,  she  sank  back  into  her  corner  with  an  uncon 
scious  sigh.  Archie  had  taken  a  cigarette  from  the 
little  gold  case  that  had  been  one  of  Adelle's  first 
presents  to  him,  and  as  he  lighted  it  skillfully  in  face 
of  the  wind  was  doubtless  thinking  that  never  again 
would  he  be  misled  into  going  to  Clark's  Field. 

On  the  way  back  Adelle  ordered  the  driver  to  stop 
in  the  Square,  and  despite  Archie's  protest  that  it 
was  already  long  past  lunch-time  she  left  him  in  the 
car  and  turned  down  the  side  street  that  led  to  the 
old  rooming-house.  It  was  gone!  In  its  place  was  a 

269 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

five-story  flat  building  that  occupied  not  only  all 
their  yard,  but  the  livery-stable  lot  as  well.  Adelle 
realized  the  change  with  a  positive  shock.  Latterly, 
since  the  little  lecture  by  the  probate  judge,  the  im 
ages  of  her  early  life  had  come  back  to  her  mind  as 
they  had  not  for  years.  The  transformation  of  Clark's 
Field  did  not  matter  so  much  even :  it  had  not  been 
in  the  immediate  horizon  of  her  youth,  —  more  an 
idea  than  a  physical  possession.  But  Church  Street 
and  the  rooming-house  and  the  livery-stable  —  they 
had  been  her  very  self.  She  felt  strangely  as  she  had 
seven  years  before  when  she  was  returning  to  her 
aunt's  house  after  the  funeral  of  the  widow.  The  last 
of  all  her  landmarks  had  been  swept  away.  .  .  . 

She  returned  to  the  car  with  a  thoughtful  face, 
and  all  the  way  into  the  city  she  paid  no  attention 
to  Archie's  chatter,  her  mind  far  away,  busy  with  her 
forlorn  little  past.  Once  or  twice  she  wondered  what 
the  judge  had  meant  by  urging  her  to  take  her  hus 
band  to  see  Clark's  Field.  But  she  was  glad  that  she 
had  gone.  She  should  have  visited  Alton  sometime 
or  other  she  supposed  to  see  what  the  old  place  was 
like ;  —  she  must  remember  to  go  to  the  cemetery 

before  they  left  B and  look  for  her  aunt's  grave. 

But  this  was  not  all  that  the  judge  meant,  Adelle 
suspected. 

She  was  not  to  discover  for  some  years  the  full, 
fine  meaning  of  the  judge's  intention,  perhaps  might 
never  recognize  all  the  implications  of  his  message 
to  her  on  her  twenty-first  birthday. 


XXX 

ARCHIE  was  pacified  by  a  copious  luncheon  in  the 
Eclair  restaurant,  which  is  almost  as  good  as  a  sec 
ond-class  Paris  restaurant,  and  after  an  idle  after 
noon  the  couple  went  to  a  popular  musical  comedy 
to  end  their  day.  Adelle's  business  with  the  trust 
company  was  now  finished,  and  they  must  decide 
upon  their  next  move.  Their  first  impulse  after  the 
rout  upon  the  dock  had  been  to  dart  back  to  Europe 
as  expeditiously  as  possible,  with  Adelle's  recovered 
lamp,  and  never  darken  again  their  native  shores. 
But  this  pettish  mood  had  been  largely  forgotten 
during  the  fortnight  that  ensued,  and  they  remem 
bered  their  plan  of  going  to  California  so  that  Archie 
might  present  himself  in  his  new  estate  and  his  wife 
to  his  own  people.  A  cable  from  Sadie  Paul,  stating 
that  she  had  taken  ''the  B.  and  T."  (which  being 
properly  interpreted  meant  that  she  had  decided  to 
marry  her  Hungarian  count)  and  was  returning  to 
her  home  to  celebrate  her  wedding,  determined 
them.  They  forthwith  made  their  arrangements  to 
cross  the  continent  and  spend  the  summer  on  the 
Pacific  Coast. 

It  may  as  well  be  said  that  before  departing  Adelle 
had  one  quite  serious  business  talk  with  President 
West  of  the  trust  company  and  the  excellent  Mr. 

271 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Smith,  whose  had  been  the  chastening  hand  at  the 
time  of  her  elopement.  Possibly  the  wisdom  of  his 
remarks  was  becoming  more  evident  to  Adelle  as 
marriage  wore  on,  or  it  might  be  that  she  still  did 
usually  as  she  was  told,  if  she  were  told  with  suffi 
cient  authority.  At  any  rate,  she  agreed  to  leave  in 
the  hands  of  the  Washington  Trust  Company  the 
bulk  of  her  estate,  not  strictly  in  the  form  of  a  trust, 
—  they  could  not  induce  her  to  surrender  the  priv 
ilege  of  the  lamp  to  that  extent,  —  but  under  an 
agreement  by  which  she  bound  herself  not  to  disturb 
the  principal  of  her  fortune  for  a  term  of  years.  The 
bankers  represented  to  her  tactfully  that  neither  she 
nor  Mr.  Davis  had  yet  had  extensive  experience  in 
the  investment  of  money ;  that  the  operations  of  the 
Clark's  Field  Associates  were  not  finally  wound  up ; 
that  they  had  had  such  success  in  their  investments 
on  her  account  that  it  would  be  well  to  allow  them 
to  carry  out  their  scheme  of  investment,  etc.  In 
short,  she  signed  the  agreement,  which  was  the  last 

thing  she  did  in  B . 

Archie,  when  he  learned  what  she  had  done,  was 
irritated.  Naturally  he  did  not  like  Mr.  Smith  and 
had  a  grudge  against  the  trust  company  as  a  whole. 
He  said  that  the  arrangement  reflected  upon  him 
and  his  dignity  as  a  husband,  although,  as  Mr.  West 
had  pointed  out  to  Adelle,  it  was  not  customary  for 
a  husband  to  be  entrusted  with  the  disposal  of  all 
his  wife's  property.  Since  the  vogue  of  interna 
tional  marriages,  American  fathers  had  taken  refuge 

272 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

in  the  trust  companies.  In  spite  of  argument  and 
sulks,  however,  Archie  could  not  prevail  upon 
Adelle  to  undo  what  she  had  done,  and  he  had  to 
content  himself  with  the  shrewd  reflection  that  it 
was  probably  not  legally  binding  and  could  be 
broken  when  opportunity  offered. 

In  this  affair  Adelle  displayed  an  unexpected  cau 
tion  by  her  willingness  to  let  the  trust  company  re 
main  guardian  of  her  magic  lamp  for  the  present. 
She  had  a  woman's  instinctive  confidence  in  an  in 
stitution,  especially  in  one  which  years  of  use  had 
made  familiar  to  her.  Archie,  she  felt  justly,  must  con 
tent  himself  with  their  income,  which  would  be  more 
than  two  hundred  thousand  a  year.  That  should 
satisfy  their  immediate  wants  after  the  eighteen 
months  of  bread-and-butter  probation.  And  after 
all  it  was  her  own  money,  as  the  trust  officers  had 
said  to  her  again  and  again.  This,  however,  she  did 
not  repeat  to  Archie.  She  soothed  his  irritated  pride 
in  other  ways,  and  in  the  end  a  fairly  contented  and 
harmonious  couple  were  whirled  westward  in  the 
track  of  the  setting  sun  to  that  more  golden  shore 
of  our  continent,  where  other  fate  awaited  them. 


XXXI 

AFTER  a  brief  visit  at  the  Santa  Rosa  vineyard, 
where  oddly  enough  Adelle  seemed  to  feel  more  at 
home  than  Archie,  they  went  to  Bellevue  to  attend 
the  famous  Paul  wedding.  Here  Irene  Paul,  now 
an  "Honorable  Mrs."  George  Pointer,  entertained 
them,  both  Adelle  and  Irene  apparently  forgetting 
their  old  grudges.  Arm  about  waist  they  went  lov 
ingly  up  the  grand  staircase  of  the  old  Paul  man 
sion  to  Adelle's  rooms,  babbling  about  school  days, 
Pussy  Comstock,  and  the  other  girls  of  her  fa 
mous  "family."  Irene  even  looked  with  favor  upon 
Archie  in  his  developed  condition  of  a  rich  woman's 
husband.  Adelle  reflected  complacently  that  he  was 
quite  as  presentable  as  a  man  as  the  young  English 
man  Irene  had  married.  All  you  had  to  do  to  suc 
ceed,  in  marriage  as  in  other  things,  was  to  do  what 
you  wanted  and  make  the  world  accept  you  and 
your  acts.  And  she  honestly  admired  the  tall  blonde 
Irene,  who  had  bloomed  under  the  influences  of  mat 
rimony  into  something  suggestively  English  — 
high-colored,  stately,  emphatic.  She  liked  the  ram 
bling  ugly  mansion  built  in  the  eighties  after  Her 
mann  Paul's  success  with  railroads,  in  the  best  man 
sard  style  of  the  day,  and  never  touched  since.  The 
grounds  which  had  been  extensively  planted  by  the 

274 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

railroad  man  were  now  covered  with  a  luxuriant 
growth  of  exotic  trees  that  completely  hid  the  house 
and  afforded  only  peeps  of  the  distant  bay.  Cali 
fornia,  with  its  pungent  stimulants  of  odor  and  color, 
appealed  to  her  from  the  very  first.  She  was  quite 
happy,  and  Archie  seemed  to  expand  in  his  native 
soil  and  was  less  peevish  than  he  had  grown  to  be 
latterly. 

After  the  wedding,  which  according  to  the  local 
newspapers  was  a  very  grand  affair,  but  which  un 
fortunately  does  not  come  into  this  story,  Archie 
and  Adelle  prolonged  their  visit.  They  found  the 
easy  atmosphere  of  this  pretty  California  town  so 
agreeable,  with  its  busy  air  of  luxurious  leisure,  that 
they  took  a  furnished  house  for  the  remainder  of  the 
season,  and  in  the  autumn  they  rented  a  larger  place 
out  on  the  hills  behind  the  town,  having  a  lovely 
view  of  the  great  valley  and  the  distant  waters  of  the 
Bay,  with  the  blue  tips  of  the  inland  hills  rising 
through  the  mists.  They  still  talked  confidently  of 
returning  to  Europe  to  live. 

They  did  not,  however,  at  least  for  permanent 
residence.  Archie  was  too  content  with  life  in  this 
land  of  sunshine,  flowers,  and  informal  living,  to 
leave.  He  said  quite  flatly  now  that  he  did  not  think 
he  was  meant  to  be  a  painter  and  there  was  no  point 
in  being  an  artist  if  you  did  not  have  to  be  something. 
Adelle  perceived  that  according  to  Archie  there  was 
not  much  point  in  doing  anything  unless  one  had  to. 
She  began  to  suspect  dimly  the  existence  of  a  deep  hu- 

275 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

man  law.  "By  the  sweat  of  thy  brow,"  it  had  been 
writ  in  that  Puritan  Bible  she  studied  at  the  First 
Congregational  Church  in  Alton.  Then  it  had  a  very 
definite  meaning  even  to  her  child's  mind,  but  during 
the  easy  years  since,  she  had  forgotten  it  altogether. 
Now  something  like  its  stern  truth  was  boring  into 
her  consciousness.  It  seemed  that  when  the  larger 
incentives  of  living  —  the  big  universal  ones  —  had 
been  removed  for  any  cause,  human  beings  were 
often  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  themselves.  They 
sighed  for  "freedom"  when  bound  to  the  common 
wheel,  but  when  released,  as  Archie  and  Adelle  had 
been,  the  average  man  or  woman  had  but  the  feeblest 
notion  of  what  to  do  with  his  "freedom." 

With  women  such  as  Adelle  the  tragedy  is  less 
apparent  than  with  men,  because  woman's  life  for 
uncounted  ages  has  consisted  in  great  part  of  play 
ing  games  with  herself  at  the  dictates  of  men,  and 
large  wealth  assists  her  in  making  these  games 
socially  interesting  and  agreeable.  Adelle,  to  be 
sure,  had  no  social  ambition  of  the  conventional  sort. 
She  was  more  content  than  Archie  with  merely  being 
married  and  having  plenty  of  money  to  spend  in  any 
way  she  chose.  In  this  respect  she  was  nearer  the 
primitive  than  Archie,  who  often  reminded  her  of  the 
fact  somewhat  cruelly.  Yet,  as  we  shall  see,  when 
the  time  came  she  awoke  to  the  full  realization  of 
the  situation,  which  Archie  never  understood  at  all. 

Art  having  finally  been  thrown  out  of  the  window 
by  both,  it  remained  to  determine  how  best -they 

276 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

could  dispose  of  themselves  and  their  riches  so  as 
to  "get  the  most  out  of  life."  The  first  of  the  game 
substitutes  for  real  living  happened  to  be  a  "  ranch." 
The  suggestion  came  from  Irene's  husband,  who  had 
been  attracted  to  California  by  this  lure  of  Branch 
ing." 

"Why  don't  you  go  in  for  a  big  ranch?"  he  said 
to  Archie  one  evening,  when  the  four  were  yawning 
sleepily  over  the  fire  after  a  day  spent  motoring  in 
the  wind.  "There's  the  Arivista  property  in  So 
noma  County.  I  hear  they  want  to  sell  —  ten  thou 
sand  acres." 

The  idea  of  becoming  a  large  landowner  appealed 
to  the  Californian  in  Archie.  They  talked  the  mat 
ter  over,  and  it  resulted  in  their  all  motoring  down 
the  State  to  the  Arivista  property.  In  the  end  they 
bought  at  considerable  expense  this  ten-thousand- 
acre  tract  of  mountain,  valley,  and  plain,  and  began 
elaborate  improvements.  It  had  been  once  a  "cattle 
proposition,"  but  Archie's  idea  was  to  turn  it  into 
fruit  and  nuts,  as  well  as  a  gentleman's  estate  of  a 
princely  sort,  with  a  large  "mission  style"  cement 
mansion.  He  engaged  an  architect  and  a  superin 
tendent,  and  began  building  and  planting  on  an 
elaborate  scale. 

Adelle  was  glad  to  see  her  Archie  really  interested 
in  something  and  encouraged  him  in  all  his  ambi 
tious  plans.  They  motored  frequently  to  the  ranch 
to  inspect  operations.  It  took  them  two  days  to  go 
and  return,  and  there  were  only  rough  accommoda- 

277 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

tions  at  the  ranch.  But  she  liked  it.  The  great  un 
tamed  spaces  of  hill  and  plain,  with  the  broad  hori 
zon  of  blue  mountains,  appealed  to  her.  She  was 
less  interested  in  the  big  house,  the  barns,  outbuild 
ings,  orchards,  —  all  the  paraphernalia  that  goes 
with  an  "estate,"  which  Archie  wished  impatiently 
to  have  created  at  once.  It  took,  naturally,  a  great 
deal  of  money.  Before  the  work  at  Arivista  was 
finally  stopped,  it  was  estimated  that  close  to  half 
a  million  dollars  of  Clark's  Field  had  been  poured 
into  this  California  "ranch,"  from  which,  of  course, 
less  than  a  quarter  was  ever  recovered,  no  other 
rich  man  being  found  with  similar  conceptions  of 
what  a  "ranch"  should  be.  All  told,  the  Davises 
lived  upon  their  ranch  less  than  four  months  during 
the  next  spring,  and  before  the  blossoms  had  finally 
fallen  sufficient  reasons  were  found  to  move  them 
back  nearer  people  and  the  ordinary  diversions  of 
life.  Water,  it  was  discovered,  could  not  be  got 
in  sufficient  quantity.  The  relaxing  climate  of  the 
south  did  not  seem  to  agree  with  Adelle.  And,  above 
all,  a  child  was  expected. 

The  little  boy  was  born  in  Bellevue.  He  had  come 
to  them  by  accident,  for  neither  felt  that  it  was  yet 
the  right  time  to  have  children ;  but  Adelle  recog 
nized  almost  at  once  that  it  was  likely  to  be  a  happy 
accident  for  her  and  welcomed  it  with  all  proper  fer 
vor.  It  served,  at  any  rate,  to  settle  them  in  Cali 
fornia  for  the  present.  They  decided  to  buy  the  place 
they  had  rented  upon  the  hills  and  live  there  for 

278 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

most  of  the  year.  And  it  also  served  to  strengthen 
the  bond  between  husband  and  wife,  which  was 
wearing  dangerously  thin  in  places.  With  the  com 
ing  of  the  child  the  family  was  constituted,  and  an 
other  interest  was  given  to  Adelle,  which  compen 
sated  for  Archie's  pettish  moods.  The  child  also 
released  Archie  from  the  constant  attention  which 
Adelle  exacted  of  him,  and  permitted  him  more  of 
that  precious  "freedom,"  which  he  found  wealth  did 
not  always  bring. 

Thus  they  definitely  started  their  California  life. 


XXXII 

BELLEVUE  is  one  of  those  country  towns  in  the 
neighborhood  of  a  large  city  that  have  flourished 
especially  since  the  discovery  of  the  motor-car.  It 
took  quite  two  hours  to  reach  it  from  San  Francisco 
by  train  and  nearly  that  by  fast  driving  in  a  car,  ow 
ing  to  the  poor  roads.  Thus  it  was  removed  for  the 
present  from  the  contaminating  contact  of  the  "com 
muter"  and  all  the  commonness  of  suburbanism. 
Bellevue  had,  of  course,  its  country  club,  with  a 
charming  new  clubhouse,  where  polo  was  played  in 
season,  as  well  as  the  humbler  forms  of  sport  such 
as  golf  and  tennis,  and  where  a  good  deal  of  lively 
entertaining  went  on  at  all  seasons.  It  was  an  old 
settlement ;  that  is,  it  had  been  the  country  home  of  a 
few  families  for  almost  two  generations,  the  first  of 
the  great  places  having  been  developed  in  the  seven 
ties  when  the  railroad  fortunes  were  being  made.  Be 
sides  these  older  estates,  which  were  marked  by  the 
luxuriance  of  their  planting  and  by  the  ugliness  of 
their  houses,  there  was  a  growing  number  of  smaller, 
more  modern  estates  with  attractive  houses,  and 
also  a  little  settlement  "across  the  tracks  "  of  trades 
people  and  servants.  Except  for  the  eternal  spring 
and  the  wealth  of  California  foliage,  Bellevue  was 
much  like  any  number  of  towns  outside  of  Chicago, 

280 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Philadelphia,  New  York,  or  Boston.  And  the  social 
life  of  the  place,  except  for  the  minor  modifications 
due  to  climate  and  environment,  was  so  exactly  typi 
cal  of  what  everybody  knows  that  it  needs  no  de 
scription. 

Thanks  to  Irene's  good  will  as  well  as  to  Adelle's 
fortune  the  Davises  became  immediately  acquainted 
with  the  "colony"  of  Bellevue,  and  were  easily  ac 
cepted  as  members  of  that  supposedly  exclusive 
society.  Archie  rapidly  made  a  place  for  himself  at 
the  club.  Having  no  regular  occupation  he  could  de 
vote  himself  to  polo  with  the  exclusiveness  of  a  single 
passion.  For  diversion  he  motored  up  to  the  city  fre 
quently,  where  he  became  a  member  of  several  clubs, 
and  for  business  there  was  always  the  ranch  to  worry 
about.  In  this  way  he  kept  up  a  current  of  movement 
in  his  daily  life,  which  for  persons  like  the  Davises 
takes  the  place  of  real  activity. 

Adelle  was  indolent  about  social  life  as  about 
much  else.  She  did  not  like  to  take  pains  over  any 
thing  and  found  entertaining  a  bore.  She  was  a  poor 
diner-out,  and  when  the  coming  of  her  child  gave  her 
an  excuse  she  was  quite  content  to  leave  the  social 
aspect  of  their  life  to  Archie,  who  was  generally 
thought  to  be  much  more  agreeable  than  his  wife. 
After  they  finally  decided  to  buy  the  Bellevue  place, 
Adelle  occupied  herself  with  ambitious  schemes  for 
the  improvement  of  the  property.  She  decided  that 
the  old  house  was  uncomfortable  and  badly  placed, 
too  near  the  road,  and  selected  a  site  upon  the  steep 

281 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

hillside,  which  commanded  a  large  view  of  the  valley 
and  the  great  Bay  across  the  verdurous  growth  of 
the  town.  Then  she  engaged  a  young  architect,  who 
was  a  member  of  the  Bellevue  Country  Club  and 
had  "done"  several  houses  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
at  once  she  was  involved  in  a  bewildering  maze  of 
plans  for  house  and  grounds.  This  kept  her  busy 
during  her  convalescence  and  gratified  the  rudimen 
tary  creative  instinct  in  her,  which  had  led  her  be 
fore  to  making  jewelry.  In  planning  a  large  country 
estate  there  was  also  a  pleasant  sense  of  rivalry  with 
her  old  friend  Irene,  who  was  forced  to  content  her 
self  for  the  present  with  her  father's  out-of-date 
mansion.  It  took  much  money,  of  course,  and  the 
young  architect  spared  his  clients  no  possible  ex 
pense,  but  Adelle  felt  that  the  springs  of  Clark's 
Field  were  inexhaustible. 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  happiest  period  of  Adelle's 
existence.  Her  marriage  had  begun  to  prove  uncom 
fortable  in  Europe  and  threatened  badly  at  Ari- 
vista,  because  there  was  not  enough  of  anything 
between  her  and  her  husband  to  support  idleness 
alone.  It  was  much  better  at  Bellevue,  for  here 
Archie  was  taken  care  of,  not  always  in  a  safe  way, 
but,  as  far  as  Adelle  knew,  satisfactorily.  The  rich, 
sensuous  country,  with  its  peculiar  profusion  of  ex 
otic  vegetation  and  the  luxury  of  perpetual  good 
weather,  made  Adelle,  pale  offspring  of  an  outworn 
Puritanism,  bloom,  especially  after  the  birth  of  her 
child,  It  was  as  if  all  the  desires  of  the  old  Clarks 

282 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  escape  the  hardships  of  their  bleak  lives  found 
at  last  their  fulfillment  in  her.  She  expanded  under 
the  influence  of  warmth  and  color ;  for  climate  is  a 
larger  moral  factor  than  is  usually  recognized.  In 
California  the  struggle  for  life  is  a  meaningless  fig 
ure  of  speech,  and  Adelle  did  not  like  struggling. 
She  loved  to  putter  about  in  the  overgrown  garden 
and  to  slumber  in  the  sun  beside  her  little  boy, 
refusing  to  descend  to  the  delights  of  the  club  and 
Bellevue  hospitality  even  after  she  had  no  excuse. 
When  Irene  took  her  to  task  for  her  dawdling  by 
herself  she  gurgled  contentedly,  — 

"What's  the  good  of  doing  those  things?  Archie 
likes  it  —  he  sees  the  crowd  at  the  club  —  that 's 
enough  for  him." 

"  You  Ve  got  to  take  your  position,  "Irene  remon 
strated  with  a  new  pose.  She  herself  aspired  to  lead 
on  the  score  of  her  family's  antiquity  in  Bellevue. 

"What's  that?"  Adelle  asked  blankly. 

It  was  difficult  as  Irene  found  to  explain  just  what 
position  Adelle  Davis  should  take  in  human  society, 
just  what  it  meant  to  be  a  "leader."  But  she 
talked  much  about  ' '  the  world  going  by  one, ' '  and 
"duties  of  our  position,"  and  "keeping  in  touch," 
with  a  note  of  mature  tolerance  and  responsibility  in 
her  voice.  To  all  of  which  Adelle  opposed  merely 
a  lazy  stare.  In  her  gray  eyes  she  seemed  to  mirror 
the  fussy  little  social  life  of  this  ideal  country  town, 
with  its  spread  of  motors  about  the  station  on  the 
arrival  of  the  afternoon  train  from  the  city,  its  prop- 

283 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

erly  garbed  men  and  women  strenuously  amus 
ing  themselves  at  the  country  club,  its  numerous 
"places,"  all  very  much  alike,  with  their  gardens  and 
greenhouses  and  tennis-courts,  and  ten  masters'  and 
five  servants'  rooms,  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 

If  Adelle  could  find  no  very  cogent  reason  why  she 
should  make  herself  toilsomely  a  pillar  of  this  soci 
ety,  shall  we  blame  her?  If  she  found  for  the  pres 
ent  enough  of  content  in  the  soft  sunshine,  the  fra 
grant  flowers,  her  baby,  and  her  own  home,  with  the 
intermittent  companionship  of  the  one  man  she  had 
chosen  to  spend  her  life  with,  shall  we  consider  her 
highly  culpable,  deficient  in  the  moral  or  social  sense? 
All  the  rest  was  much  ado  about  nothing  to  Adelle, 
and,  perhaps,  as  far  as  Bellevue  went,  —  and  a  good 
deal  like  it  in  life  elsewhere,  —  Adelle  was  not  far 
wrong  in  her  instinct.  .  .  . 

"Here's  Archie  now,"  she  remarked,  observing 
her  lord  coming  up  the  drive  in  his  car. 

4 '  Hello,  Archie ! ' '  Irene  called  in  greeting.  Her  tone 
was  quite  friendly  and  intimate.  Archie  certainly 
had  been  "accepted"  in  this  quarter.  "Going  to 
the  Carharts?" 

Archie,  of  course,  was  going  to  the  Carharts  to 
dine  and  play  cards. 

"Coming,  Dell?"  he  asked  his  wife  casually. 

Adelle  shook  her  head. 

"I've  been  telling  Dell  she  ought  not  to  be  so 
lazy,"  Irene  commented.  "She  never  goes  off  the 
place  if  she  can  help  it!" 

284 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Adelle  don't  like  people,"  Archie  observed 
gloomily. 

"Yes  I  do,  well  enough,"  his  wife  protested. 

"It's  a  queer  way  you  have  of  showing  it,  then." 

"Why  should  I  like  'em,  anyway,  if  I  don't  want 
to?"  she  retorted  with  some  heat,  childishly  eager 
to  put  herself  in  the  right. 

"That's  just  it,"  Irene  commented.  "I  tell  her 
some  day  she  will  want  people,  and  she  will  find  it 
is  n't  easy  to  have  them  then.  .  .  .  Besides,  it's  her 
duty  to  take  her  part  —  everybody  must." 

Adelle  made  a  bored  gesture  and  filched  a  cigar 
ette  from  Archie's  case. 

"Go  on,  you  two,  and  have  a  good  time,"  she 
said  amiably. 

And  presently  Archie  departed  with  Irene,  driving 
her  back  to  Bellevue  in  his  own  car.  As  Adelle 
watched  them  depart  from  the  veranda,  very  com- 
panionably,  in  close  conversation,  she  smiled,  per 
haps  because  she  knew  that  they  were  still  talking 
about  her  and  her  social  delinquency,  perhaps  be 
cause  it  amused  her  to  think  how  thoroughly  Irene 
had  revised  her  opinion  of  the  "red-headed  boun 
der."  In  the  still  twilight  her  quiet  mind  speculated 
upon  many  things  —  the  friendship  between  Archie 
and  Irene,  the  obsession  most  people  seemed  to  have 
to  get  together  in  one  way  or  another,  Irene's  creed 
of  "taking  your  place  in  the  world,"  —  possibly  even 
the  purpose  and  meaning  of  life  in  general,  although 
Adelle  would  scarcely  recognize  her  meditations 

285 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

under  those  terms.  ...  In  the  end  she  went  up 
softly  to  her  baby's  room  and  spent  a  long  time  in 
examining  minutely  the  child's  features.  Now  that 
she  had  discovered  all  the  delights  of  maternity  she 
wondered  at  herself  for  having  been  so  indifferent  to 
this  great  power  latent  in  her  of  creating  life,  and 
determined  to  have  other  children  as  soon  as  pos 
sible.  As  a  matter  of  course  she  thought  of  Archie 
as  their  father,  but  it  was  only  in  that  way  that  she 
thought  of  him  at  all,  if  she  did  happen  to  think  of 
him.  A  husband  was  the  necessary  means  of  fulfill 
ing  her  new  desire  to  have  her  own  young. 


XXXIII 

THAT  summer  while  the  new  house  was  going  up  they 
went  back  to  Europe  for  a  few  months,  as  it  was  too 
hot  on  the  ranch  and  they  had  nothing  better  to  do. 
They  also  meant  to  buy  furniture,  rugs,  pictures,  and 
other  material  for  the  new  home  which  they  expected 
would  be  their  permanent  abiding-place.  .  .  . 

It  would  be  a  waste  of  time  to  chronicle  in  minute 
detail  this  period  of  Adelle's  marriage.  As  the  reader 
must  suspect  by  this  time,  nothing  of  spiritual  sig 
nificance  was  to  come  to  Adelle  through  Archie  nor 
to  Archie  through  Adelle.  They  did  continue  for  a 
number  of  years  to  be  man  and  wife,  although  they 
frequently  had  bitter  quarrels  and  felt  rather  than 
clearly  recognized  that  their  union  had  been  a  mis 
take,  which  neither  one  seemed  able  to  rectify  nor 
make  the  best  of.  It  was  not  so  much  principle  that 
prolonged  their  tie,  nor  design  on  Archie's  part  to 
keep  possession  of  the  wealth  his  wife  had  brought  v 
him,  as  the  fact  of  the  child  —  and  Adelle's  hope, 
which  was  never  realized,  of  having  other  children. 

One  of  their  more  serious  quarrels  was  occasioned 
by  Adelle's  discovery  at  this  time  of  Archie's  unfor 
tunate  speculations.  She  had  already  yielded  to  his 
constant  demands  for  money  for  the  ranch  and 
broken  her  arrangement  with  the  Washington  Trust 

287 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Company,  converting  part  of  their  excellent  in 
vestments  into  cash,  which  she  removed  to  San 
Francisco,  where  it  could  be  got  at  more  easily. 
Archie  had  had  charge  of  this  uninvested  portion 
of  the  estate;  it  gave  him  something  to  do  and  to 
talk  about  with  men.  Until  her  illness,  to  be  sure, 
Adelle  had  kept  run  of  what  was  being  done  with 
her  money,  and  opposed  any  considerable  further 
changes  in  the  investments  of  the  estate,  which  were 
of  the  sort  that  a  good  trust  company  would  make, 
and  which  had  very  greatly  appreciated  in  value 
during  these  last  years  of  national  prosperity.  But 
during  her  illness  and  afterwards  when  she  was  ab 
sorbed  in  the  child,  Archie  had  taken  a  freer  hand 
and  had  changed  some  of  the  investments  unknown 
to  his  wife.  He  had  put  the  money  into  local  enter 
prises,  of  which  the  men  he  met  told  him,  but  about 
which  he  could  know  very  little.  There  were  new 
water-power  companies  up  in  the  mountains,  and 
there  was  especially  the  Seaboard  Railroad  and  De 
velopment  Company  —  a  daring  scheme  for  open 
ing  up  a  tract  of  land  along  the  northern  coast  of 
California.  Into  this  last  venture  Archie  had  put 
much  more  of  Adelle's  money  than  he  liked  to  re 
member.  It  was  a  pet  project  of  the  men  he  knew 
best  in  the  Bellevue  Club  —  the  polo-playing  set. 
The  Honorable  George  Pointer  was  very  active  in 
Seaboard,  representing  an  English  syndicate  that 
was  supposed  to  be  backing  the  enterprise  with  am 
ple  funds,  and  for  this  reason  the  Pointers  had  pro- 

288 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

longed  their  California  sojourn  beyond  the  usual 
term.  Seaboard,  it  was  said,  would  prove  eventu 
ally  to  be  much  more  important  than  a  short  line  of 
new  railroad  developing  a  desolate  stretch  of  the 
Pacific:  it  was  to  be  used  as  a  club  upon  one  of  the 
older  railroads.  The  best  families  of  the  State  were 
heavily  interested  in  it,  the  younger  generation  of 
bloods  expecting  by  means  of  it  to  rival  the  railroad 
ing  exploits  of  their  fathers,  whose  fortunes,  as 
everybody  knows,  were  acquired  in  the  golden  sev 
enties  and  eighties  in  much  the  same  way.  (And 
when  the  explosion  in  Seaboard  came  off,  it  left  deep 
scars  all  through  California  society.) 

All  this  Archie  tried  to  make  Adelle  understand, 
when  unexpectedly  she  gained  a  knowledge  of  his 
operations  in  Seaboard.  She  happened  to  open  some 
letters  from  his  brokers  that  came  to  Archie  during 
his  absence  —  letters  that  clamored  for  more  ready 
money  with  which  to  pay  for  options  that  Archie 
had  taken  upon  the  common  stock  of  the  new  com 
pany.  Adelle  was  disturbed  when  she  discovered 
that  more  than  a  million  of  her  money  had  already 
gone  into  Seaboard.  The  couple  had  some  sharp 
words  about  the  matter,  in  which  Adelle  put  the 
thing  rather  too  bluntly  to  Archie,  — 

"What  do  you  know  about  railroads?  You  are  n't 
a  business  man  —  you  never  earned  a  dollar  in  busi 
ness  in  your  life!" 

Adelle  was  probably  remembering  how  she  had 
given  Archie  the  only  order  he  had  ever  received  for 

289 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

his  painting.  Archie  naturally  resented  her  allusion 
to  his  penniless  and  dependent  state.  He  knew,  he 
asserted,  quite  as  much  as  other  men,  whom  he  in 
stanced,  all  of  whom  managed  their  wives'  money 
affairs  without  being  scolded  for  what  they  did. 

But  why,  Adelle  urged  more  softly,  did  he  have 
to  speculate — try  to  make  more  money  than  they 
already  had?  And  Archie's  somewhat  incoherent 
reply  was  much  the  same  as  Irene  Pointer's  reasons 
for  going  into  the  society  of  one's  fellows.  To  try 
to  make  more  money  when  one  already  had  the  use 
of  a  great  deal  was  an  honorable  and  sensible  ambi 
tion  —  every  one  would  tell  her  so.  All  moneyed 
men  who  were  worth  their  salt  were  always  alive 
to  opportunities  of  enlarging  their  possessions.  Did 
she  want  her  husband  to  sit  around  with  folded 
hands  and  do  nothing  in  the  world?  Archie  waxed 
righteous  and  right-minded,  which  is  the  easiest  way 
to  eloquence. 

Adelle  was  silent,  though  not  convinced  by  his 
reasoning  any  more  than  she  had  been  by  Irene's 
about  "taking  her  part."  Both  seemed  to  make  life 
needlessly  dangerous  and  complicated,  under  the 
disguise  of  duty.  But  she  could  not  endure  sullen- 
ness  and  bad  temper  in  Archie.  Having  taken  the 
sort  of  husband  she  had,  she  must  make  the  best  of 
life  with  him,  even  if  he  hazarded  her  fortune  in 
doubtful  enterprises.  She  remembered  with  comfort 
that  there  was  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  ultimately 
would  be  even  more  when  Clark's  Field  was  finally 

290 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

liquidated.  Archie  could  hardly  go  so  wrong  in  in 
vestments  as  to  make  away  with  all  of  it.  So  she 
agreed  to  his  selling  another  block  of  General  Elec 
tric  or  Bell  Telephone  and  taking  up  his  options,  and 
having  thus  made  up  their  difference,  they  drifted 
on  their  way. 

They  motored  across  the  continent  to  the  remote 
fastness  where  the  Countess  Zornec  was  housed 
upon  her  husband's  estate  and  spent  some  weeks 
with  the  couple.  It  was  easy,  even  for  Adelle's  un 
observant  eyes,  to  detect  signs  of  trouble  in  this  new 
marriage.  Sadie  had  a  temper.  All  the  girls  at  the 
Hall  had  known  that.  Indeed,  she  had  the  charac 
teristics  of  her  mother,  who  report  said  had  been  an 
Irish  girl  in  one  of  the  U.  P.  construction  camps 
when  old  Paul  found  her  —  that  was  long  before  his 
fortune  came,  when  he  was  a  simple  contractor  for 
the  railroad.  Sadie  had  an  unfortunate  mouth,  with 
coarse  teeth,  and  when  she  was  crossed,  this  long 
mouth  wrinkled  into  a  snarl.  The  Count  apparently 
had  already  found  out  how  to  cross  her.  Indeed, 
he  did  not  disguise  his  contempt  for  his  bride's  ori 
gins,  and  sometimes  decorum  was  badly  strained 
at  the  dinner-table.  Sadie  was  little  and  lithe  and 
was  something  of  the  gamine  —  her  "  tricks,"  as  the 
girls  called  her  daring  maneuvers,  had  always  pleased 
men.  But  the  Count  did  not  like  "  tricks."  He 
wished  more  dignity  in  the  wife  of  a  Zornec  and  did 
not  hesitate  to  tell  Sadie  so.  Nor  did  he  care  to  have 
her  gaminerie  attract  other  men.  In  short,  as  Sadie 

291 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

confided  to  Adelle  in  a  burst  shortly  after  her  arrival, 
the  Count  was  a  "regular  brute."  It  seemed  that 
Europeans  made  very  good  lovers,  but  dangerous 
husbands.  Adelle  was  to  be  congratulated  for  hav 
ing  married  an  American,  "who  at  least  knew  how 
to  treat  a  woman,"  as  if  she  were  more  than  his 
horse  or  his  servant.  Adelle  might  once  have  been 
pleased  by  this  admission  of  envy  of  her  Archie ;  but 
now  she  had  her  own  troubles.  However,  she  did  not 
confess  them  to  any  one.  She  said  good-naturedly 
that  it  was  hard  being  married  to  most  any  man, 
until  you  got  used  to  it.  Sadie  shook  her  small  head 
and  showed  her  large  teeth. 

"  I  '11  show  him,"  she  said,  "that  he  can't  wipe  his 
feet  on  me!  An  American  woman  won't  stand  what 
he's  used  to." 

Adelle  suspected  dire  things,  physical  violence 
even,  and  was  silent. 

Sadie  continued,  —  "Some  day  he'll  go  too  far, 
and  then  -  "  She  closed  her  lips  over  the  teeth  in  a 
hard  fashion. 

Adelle  wondered  what  she  would  do  with  the 
Count  in  such  an  event.  She  could  hardly  divorce 
him,  for  the  Pauls  were  Catholic  as  well  as  the  Zor- 
necs,  of  course.  It  was  very  inconvenient  being  a 
Catholic,  she  reflected,  if  you  were  to  be  married. 
And  it  seemed  less  easy  to  drop  a  husband  in  Europe 
than  it  was  in  America.  There  would  be  trouble 
about  the  children  and  all  that. 

Archie  did  not  find  the  Count  so  bad,  although  he 
292 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

growled  sometimes  at  his  host's  thinly  veiled  con 
tempt  for  all  Americans.  Archie  felt  superior  to  the 
foreign  nobleman  who  had  made  a  rich  American 
marriage.  At  least  he  had  taken  an  heiress  from  his 
own  people,  and  there  was  distinction  in  that.  But 
the  Count  and  Archie  hunted  and  rode  together,  also 
drank  deeply  of  the  Hungarian  wines  and  excellent 
French  champagne  that  the  castle  contained.  He 
was  of  the  opinion  that  Sadie  Paul  had  got  "what 
she  deserved." 

"She  needed  a  man  to  throw  her  around  a  bit  — 
she  was  always  too  fresh,"  he  told  Adelle. 

Archie  believed  in  the  strong  hand  with  women. 
Adelle  wondered  whether  Archie  would  ever  at 
tempt  to  use  it  upon  her  and  what  she  would  do  un 
der  such  circumstances.  She  was  sure  that  she 
would  resent  it  dreadfully.  That  would  seem  too 
much  for  any  woman  to  bear  —  to  marry  a  poor 
man  and  support  him  quite  handsomely  in  idleness 
and  then  be  abused  by  him.  But  fortunately  it  had 
not  got  to  that  point  in  their  marriage  —  nothing 
worse  than  sullenness  and  silence  or  angry  words  had 
happened  thus  far. 

The  Davises  terminated  their  visit  sooner  than 
had  been  expected.  The  little  boy's  ill  health  was 
made  the  excuse,  but  the  fact  was  that  the  tempestu 
ous  atmosphere  of  the  Zornec  household  was  far 
from  pleasant  to  easy-going  people.  They  engaged 
the  couple  for  a  return  visit  the  next  spring  in  Cali 
fornia  and  motored  off  to  Paris.  The  Zornecs  had 

293 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

been  a  good  object  lesson  to  them,  and  for  the  rest 
of  their  trip  they  remained  good  friends,  being  al 
most  lover-like  in  their  respect  for  each  other.  They 
seemed  to  feel  the  dangers  ahead  and  restrained 
their  moods.  Finally,  gathering  together  their  plun 
der  they  sailed  home,  and  this  time  did  not  make  any 
attempt  to  evade  the  custom-house  ordeal.  They 
paid  nobly  for  the  privilege  of  being  American  citi 
zens  and  did  not  demur.  Adelle  insisted  upon  that, 
remembering  their  former  experience.  Archie  was 
in  such  haste  to  get  back  to  California  where  "Sea 
board  was  acting  queer"  that  he  would  have  paid 
double  for  the  privilege  of  entering  his  own  country. 
They  sped  swiftly  across  the  continent  to  their  new 
home. 


XXXIV 

THE  house  was  far  from  finished  by  the  end  of  Sep 
tember  when  they  arrived.  Their  idea  of  what  it 
should  be  had  developed  so  fast  under  the  stimulus 
of  the  young  architect  that  they  could  not  recognize 
the  original  conception  in  the  imposing  structure 
that  awaited  them.  It  was  meant  to  be  an  adapta 
tion  of  a  Spanish  villa,  in  two  wings,  with  a  long 
elevation  upon  the  ravine  connecting  the  two.  There 
was  also  to  be  a  complicated  set  of  terraces  and 
forecourt,  formal  gardens,  pool,  and  orangery,  which 
required  an  immense  amount  of  masonry  work  that 
had  scarce  been  begun.  Nevertheless  they  attempted 
to  install  themselves  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the 
workmen  were  cluttered  all  over  the  place,  and 
moved  into  the  wing  that  was  most  nearly  com 
pleted,  husband  and  wife  occupying  a  ground  floor 
suite  that  was  meant  for  bachelor  guests,  the  child 
and  its  nurse  being  housed  temporarily  upstairs  in 
the  main  house.  Adelle  did  not  like  this  separa 
tion  from  the  child,  but  there  seemed  nothing  else 
to  do  for  the  present. 

That  autumn  and  winter  they  lived  at  close  quar 
ters  with  an  army  of  workmen,  who,  having  three 
masters,  —  Adelle,  Archie,  and  the  architect,  — 
took  advantage  of  the  resulting  confusion  to  move  as 

295 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

slowly  as  possible.  Adelle  was  not  impatient  as 
Archie  had  been  with  the  ranch.  She  liked  directing 
the  work,  and  discovered  that  she  had  her  own  ideas, 
which  necessitated  extensive  changes.  She  spent  al 
most  all  her  time  on  the  place,  while  Archie  was 
often  away  for  days  at  a  time  in  the  city,  attending 
to  business  or  amusing  himself.  Adelle  scarcely  no 
ticed  his  absences.  With  her  little  boy  and  the  house 
she  had  her  hands  quite  full,  and  it  was  easier  to  do 
things  when  Archie  was  not  there  to  interfere. 

Theirs  was  a  rare  location,  even  in  this  lovely 
land,  as  all  their  neighbors  said.  Behind  the  house 
the  land  rose  rapidly  to  a  steep  ridge  of  hill  that  di 
vided  the  valley  from  the  coast  valleys,  and  thus 
protected  them  with  its  crown  of  tall  eucalyptus  trees 
from  the  raw  sea  winds.  Their  hillside  had  been 
thickly  planted  to  cedars  and  eucalyptus,  and  the 
house  looked  out  from  its  niche  in  the  hill  upon  the 
fertile  valley  in  which  Bellevue  lies,  dotted  with  rich 
country  estates  and  fruit  orchards.  Farther  east 
shimmered  the  waters  of  the  Bay,  and  on  clear  days 
the  blue  tops  of  the  Santa  Clara  mountains  melted 
into  the  clouds  beyond  the  Bay.  Immediately  be 
neath  the  house  was  the  canon,  through  which  in  the 
rainy  season  a  stream  of  water  gushed  melodiously. 
The  steep  sides  of  this  canon  were  covered  with  a 
growth  of  aromatic  plants  and  shrubs,  the  pale  blues 
of  the  wild  lilac  touching  it  here  and  there.  Like  a  bit 
of  real  California,  "Highcourt,"  as  they  had  called  the 
place,  was  a  perpetual  bower  of  bloom  and  fragrance 

296 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  sunshine,  with  a  broad  panorama  of  valley,  sea, 
and  mountain  to  gaze  upon.  Adelle  loved  to  wander 
about  her  new  possession,  exploring  its  every  corner, 
and  when  she  was  tired  she  could  come  back  to  the 
sunny  forecourt  and  supervise  the  workmen,  mak 
ing  petty  decisions,  summoning  the  foreman  and  the 
architect  for  consultation.  She  thus  planned  so  many 
alterations  which  entailed  delays  that  Archie  grum 
bled  that  they  would  never  get  to  rights  and  be  able 
to  have  people  to  dinner.  Adelle  did  not  seem  to 
care.  She  had  not  profited  by  Irene's  advice,  and 
made  no  effort  to  create  a  social  atmosphere.  Irene 
apparently  gave  her  up  as  a  hopeless  case,  and  rarely 
came  up  the  long  driveway  to  Highcourt.  The 
Pointers  were  still  anchored  in  California,  thanks  to 
Seaboard  and  the  darkening  financial  horizon,  and 
Irene  was  improving  her  time  by  "living  hard," 
which  was  her  philosophy.  Adelle  knew  that  she 
and  Archie  saw  much  of  each  other,  were  very  good 
friends,  indeed,  but  the  intimacy  did  not  disturb 
her.  She  no  longer  had  that  passionate  jealousy  of 
Archie's  every  movement  which  had  rendered  the 
first  years  of  their  marriage  so  irksome  to  Archie.  It 
is  doubtful  if  she  would  have  resented  his  intimacy 
with  any  woman,  but  his  "affair"  with  Irene  Pointer 
merely  amused  her.  Archie  was  no  longer  her  most 
precious  possession.  .  .  . 

The  winter  after  their  return  to  California  a  new 
specter  appeared  —  the  last  that  Adelle  expected 
to  encounter  in  her  life.  Archie  hinted  that  it  would 

297 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

be  well  to  go  slow  with  their  "improvements"  at 
Highcourt.  The  times  were  getting  bad,  he  said,  and 
the  market  looked  as  if  they  would  get  worse  rather 
than  better.  Every  one  was  talking  of  a  dark  fu 
ture,  unsettled  conditions  industrially  in  the  country, 
and  "tightening  money,"  whatever  that  might  mean. 
Adelle  could  not  see  why  it  should  affect  her  solid 
fortune  based  upon  Clark's  Field.  To  be  sure,  men 
talked  business  more  than  usually,  the  ill  treatment 
that  capital  was  receiving,  the  "social  unrest,"  and 
such  matters,  which  did  not  interest  her.  She 
thought  that  Archie  had  caught  the  trick  of  com 
plaining  about  business  and  cursing  social  conditions 
in  America  from  the  men  at  his  clubs,  most  of  whom 
were  obliged  to  earn  their  living  by  business.  If  the 
worst  came,  if  America  became  impossible,  as  Nel 
son  Carhart  was  always  predicting,  for  "decent 
people  to  endure,"  they  could  go  abroad  until 
things  straightened  out  again. 

Then  in  midwinter  came  the  Seaboard  smash. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  that  crazy  enterprise  had  been 
tottering  upon  the  brink  of  failure  from  its  inception, 
and  Archie  was  merely  one  of  the  stool  pigeons  on 
whom  the  shrewd  promoters  had  unloaded  their 
"underwriting"  in  approved  style.  He  came  back 
from  San  Francisco  one  night  very  glum  and  an 
nounced  peremptorily  that  they  must  cut  down  their 
expenses  and ' '  quit  all  this  fool  building. ' '  He  wanted 
to  sell  the  ranch,  but  it  could  not  be  sold  in  these 
depressed  times  when  rich  men  were  hoarding  their 

298 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

pennies  like  paupers.  And  there  began  at  Highcourt 
a  regime  of  retrenchment,  bitterly  fought  by  Adelle 
—  the  rich  man's  poverty  where  there  is  no  actual 
want,  but  a  series  of  petty  curtailments  and  bor 
rowings  and  sometimes  a  real  shortness  of  cash,  al 
most  as  squalid  as  the  commoner  sort  of  poverty. 
Adelle  could  not  understand  the  reason  for  this  sud 
den  change,  and  refused  absolutely  to  stop  all  work 
upon  Highcourt  and  go  abroad  again  for  the  sake  of 
economy.  Why  should  she  be  made  uncomfortable, 
just  because  Archie  had  been  foolish  about  invest 
ments  and  felt  hard  up?  So  they  had  some  words, 
and  Archie  went  oftener  than  ever  to  San  Francisco, 
frequently  staying  in  the  city  for  days  at  a  time, 
which  was  bad  for  Adelle's  fortune,  had  she  but  real 
ized  it.  But,  as  has  been  shown,  she  had  come  now  to 
the  time  when  she  felt  relieved  if  Archie  was  not  at 
home,  glum  and  sulky,  or  nagging  and  fighting  her 
will.  With  the  place  and  her  boy  she  had  enough  to 
fill  her  mind,  and  easily  forgot  all  money  troubles 
when  Archie  was  not  there  to  remind  her  of  them. 
Somehow  they  raised  the  money  for  the  workmen, 
and  the  building  went  on,  more  slowly. 


XXXV 

THE  workmen  at  Highcourt  were  of  the  nondescript 
labor  army  that  America  has  recruited.  For  the 
rougher  outside  work  there  were  a  number  of  Ital 
ians,  whom  Adelle  liked  to  entertain  with  her  tour 
ist  Italian.  There  were  also  a  few  Greeks  and  Slavs 
who  had  got  into  this  kind  of  work  from  other  occu 
pations.  Inside  the  house  the  carpenters,  painters, 
and  plumbers  were  Swedes,  Finns,  Germans,  one 
Englishman  —  no  one  who  might  justly  be  described 
as  a  native  American.  It  was  a  typical  instance  of 
the  way  in  which  all  the  hard,  rough  labor  of  the 
country  was  being  done,  from  building  railroads  to 
getting  out  the  timber  from  the  forests  or  making 
shoes  and  blankets  in  the  factories.  Hard  physical 
labor  was  no  longer  performed  to  any  extent  by  na 
tive  Americans.  Contractors  everywhere  recruited 
their  polyglot  companies  in  the  great  cities  and 
shipped  them  out  into  the  country  where  there  was 
a  demand.  The  men  employed  at  Highcourt  were 
thus  obtained  in  San  Francisco  by  the  head  contrac 
tor  and  merely  boarded  in  the  town  of  Bellevue. 
They  lived  "across  the  tracks"  in  the  labor  settle 
ment,  or  in  lath  and  tar-paper  shacks  about  the  hills, 
camping  in  their  eternal  campaign  of  day  labor 
wherever  the  job  happened  to  take  them.  Few  were 

300 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

married,  and  all  were  given  more  or  less  to  drink 
and  riotous  living  when  pay-day  came ;  and  of  course 
they  were  constantly  changing  jobs.  Adelle  often 
heard  the  architect  and  the  head  contractor  deplore 
the  conditions  of  the  labor  market  and  the  poor  qual 
ity  of  work  to  be  got  out  of  the  men  at  ruinous  wages. 
She  had  also  heard  her  neighbors,  Carter  Pound  and 
Nelson  Carhart,  speak  feelingly  about  the  "  foreign 
riff-raff"  they  had  to  employ  on  their  estates.  No 
workman  had  a  conscience  these  days,  they  said. 
The  women,  too,  talked  of  the  rowdy  character  of 
the  town"  across  the  tracks,"  and  the  unsafety  of  the 
roads  for  women.  Adelle  did  not  think  much  about 
the  matter,  accepting  it  as  a  necessity,  like  gnats 
or  drought  or  flood. 

The  Italians  at  least  stuck  to  their  jobs  and  were 
good-natured.  Adelle  always  said  ubon  giorno" 
when  she  ran  across  them  toiling  up  the  slippery 
paths  with  their  loads  of  stone  or  cement.  She  liked 
the  way  in  which  they  showed  their  teeth  and  touched 
their  hats  politely  to  "  la  signora."  They  had  a  feel 
ing  for  her  as  the  mistress  of  the  house,  a  latent  sense 
of  feudal  loyalty  to  their  employer  that  had  quite 
disappeared  among  the  other  workmen.  Apart  from 
the  Italians,  the  faces  of  the  men  upon  the  job  were 
not  familiar  to  her  and  were  constantly  changing, 
a  strange  one  appearing  almost  every  day.  So  Adelle 
felt  less  at  home  with  them  and  rarely  spoke  to  them 
unless  she  had  an  order  to  give  that  she  could  not 
easily  transmit  through  the  foreman. 

301 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

One  morning  in  early  March  —  it  was  while  the 
Seaboard  trouble  was  acute  —  Adelle  made  her  cus 
tomary  rounds  of  the  place  to  see  what  was  being 
done.  She  descended  to  the  canon  and  stopped  for 
some  time  where  the  stone  masons  were  laying  up  the 
wall  that  was  to  support  the  terraces.  It  was  a  con 
tinuation  of  the  massive  wall  that  rose  sheer  from 
the  bottom  of  the  little  canon  to  the  front  of  the 
house,  nearly  a  hundred  feet  in  all  perpendicularly 
from  the  bottom  course  to  the  first  floor  of  the  house. 
(It  was  the  decision  to  thrust  the  house  out  over  the 
canon  that  had  necessitated  the  building  of  this  mas 
sive  wall  and  had  delayed  matters  for  months.) 
Adelle  had  heard  Archie  grumble  about  the  useless 
expense  caused  by  this  great  wall,  but  she  liked  it.  Its 
sheer  height  and  strength  gave  her  a  pleasant  sen 
sation  of  accomplishment  and  endurance.  She  liked 
to  stare  up  at  it  as  she  liked  to  see  great  trees  or  mas 
sive  mountains  or  tall  buildings.  It  was  a  symbol 
of  something  humanly  important  which  supplied 
a  secret  craving  in  her  soul. 

So  this  morning  she  stood  silently  watching  the 
masons  at  their  slow  work.  One  of  the  men  she  rec 
ognized  as  having  been  steadily  on  the  job  ever 
since  her  arrival  at  Highcourt.  He  was  a  youngish, 
slender  man  with  sandy  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  had 
the  unmistakable  air  of  being  a  native-born  Ameri 
can.  His  sinewy  hands  were  roughened  by  his  work, 
and  his  face  was  almost  a  brick  red,  either  from  con 
stant  exposure  to  the  sun  or  from  drinking,  probably 

302 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

both.  He  seemed  morose,  as  if  he  were  consciously 
ignoring  the  presence  of  his  "boss,"  and  worked 
steadily  on,  once  even  failing  to  answer  Adelle  when 
she  spoke,  apparently  unconscious  of  her  presence 
behind  him.  Adelle  liked  especially  to  watch  the 
masons  at  work.  Their  clever  management  of  the 
great  stones  they  had  to  handle,  the  precise  yet  easy 
way  in  which  they  lined  and  chipped  and  trigged  and 
mortared,  fitting  all  the  detail  of  their  rough  mosaic, 
gave  her  a  pleasant  sense  of  accomplishment  such  as 
she  had  felt  in  her  own  efforts  with  metal  and  stone. 
It  stirred  an  instinct  for  manual  labor  which  was  not 
far  down  in  her  character,  and  actually  made  her  own 
shapely  hands  twitch  to  be  at  the  fascinating  work. 
And  the  masons'  work  grew  so  surely,  course  upon 
course,  and  when  done  seemed  so  solid,  so  eternal ! .  . . 
This  morning  she  lingered  longer  than  usual  watch 
ing  the  young  mason  wield  his  hammer  and  trowel. 
Archie  had  ruffled  her  badly  with  his  talk  about 
money  losses,  and  now  she  felt  soothed,  freed  from 
stupid  perplexities.  The  mason's  large  hands,  she 
noted,  were  supple  and  dexterous  —  he  made  no  use 
less  movements.  Occasionally  he  turned  his  head  to 
spit  tobacco  or  drew  off  to  look  at  his  wall,  but  these 
were  the  only  interruptions  in  his  rhythmic  motions. 
He  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  the  woman  be 
hind  him. 

Adelle  was  prettily  dressed  in  a  costume  of  white 
linen  with  a  cloud  of  chiffon  tied  about  her  small  hat 
and  a  parasol  that  she  had  purchased  this  summer 

303 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

in  Paris,  which  consisted  of  an  enormous  gold  lace 
butterfly.  She  was  fuller  in  figure  than  before  her 
child  had  come  and  in  perfect  health,  though  still 
pale.  Fresh  and  well  cared  for,  she  was  if  not  beau 
tiful  very  attractive  and  dainty  —  all  that  money 
could  make  of  her  human  person.  Adelle  was  not 
given  to  prolonged  reflection  of  any  sort,  but  prob 
ably  she  could  not  help  comparing  her  own  dainty, 
cool,  exquisitely  clean  person  with  this  sweaty,  sun 
burned,  coarse  laborer  in  his  black  cotton  shirt,  frayed 
khaki  trousers,  and  shoes  that  the  lime  had  burned 
all  color  from.  She  must  have  felt  a  complacent  sense 
of  physical  superiority  to  the  man  who  was  working 
for  her,  and  perhaps  congratulated  herself  that  her  lot 
in  the  universe  had  come  out  such  a  comfortable  one. 

The  mason  rolled  up  a  large  stone  and  prepared  to 
set  it  home  in  the  bottom  course.  Adelle  observed 
that  he  was  about  to  crush  one  of  the  Japanese 
shrubs  that  she  had  been  at  such  pains  to  have 
planted  along  the  bank  of  the  canon. 

"Look  out  —  don't  hurt  that  bush!"  she  ordered 
peremptorily,  as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking 
to  servants. 

The  mason  tranquilly  deposited  the  rock  full  upon 
the  shrub  and  proceeded  to  slap  mortar  around  it 
and  tap  it  home  with  his  mallet. 

"Did  n't  you  hear  me?"  Adelle  demanded,  step 
ping  forward  and  pointing  at  the  offending  rock  with 
her  heavily  jeweled  finger.  "Take  it  out!  I  don't 
want  the  shrubs  killed." 

304 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

The  mason  looked  up  for  the  first  time.  There  was 
a  glint  in  his  clear  blue  eyes  as  he  said  distinctly, 
without  any  trace  of  foreign  accent,  — 

"It's  got  to  go  there!" 

A  smile  relaxed  his  red  face,  a  scornful  smile  at 
the  impertinence  of  this  dainty  specimen  of  woman 
kind  who  thought  that  the  foundation  course  of  his 
rock  wall  could  be  disturbed  for  such  a  trivial  mat 
ter  as  a  bush. 

"No,  it  has  n't,"  Adelle  rejoined  in  her  imperious 
tone.  "Fix  it  some  other  way." 

But  the  mason  continued  to  pat  his  rock,  looking 
around  for  the  next  one  to  lay  upon  it. 

"Do  what  I  say!"  Adelle  ordered,  almost  angrily, 
irritated  by  the  man's  obstinacy. 

Then  the  mason  rose,  and  with  his  trowel  tapping 
the  rock  said  slowly  and  emphatically,  — 

"I'm  laying  this  wall  —  and  I  don't  take  no  or 
ders  from  you!" 

Whereupon,  after  another  shot  from  his  hard  blue 
eyes,  he  turned  back  to  the  wall. 

At  first  Adelle  was  speechless ;  then  she  asked  in  a 
less  peremptory  tone,  — 

"Don't  you  know  who  I  am?" 

"Yes,"  the  mason  called  back  over  his  shoulder. 
"You're  the  boss  up  there."  He  indicated  the  un 
finished  house  with  a  wave  of  his  trowel,  and  went 
on  with  his  work.  He  seemed  indifferent  to  the  fact 
that  he  was  dealing  with  the  mistress  of  Highcourt, 
and  Adelle  helplessly  retreated. 

305 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"I  will  have  you  discharged!"  she  said  as  she 
walked  away. 

The  mason  did  not  reply,  and  his  face  exhibited 
no  emotion  over  this  dire  threat. 

After  considerable  search  Adelle  found  the  con 
tractor  and  made  her  complaint  against  the  mason. 

"I  warned  him  not  to  hurt  the  shrubs  and  he 
kept  right  on.  Please  discharge  him  at  once." 

The  contractor,  who  had  not  been  long  away 
from  the  trowel  and  mortar  himself,  frowned. 

"He 's  a  good  worker,  ma'am,"  he  protested.  "  It 
ain't  always  you  can  get  a  man  like  him  out  on  a 
country  job.  Happens  there  is  a  building  strike  in 
the  city,  and  he  needed  the  work,  so  he  came.  And 
he's  been  steady,  which  is  more  than  most  masons." 

"He's  impudent,"  Adelle  asserted  with  an  air  of 
finality. 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  the  contractor  said  reluc 
tantly.  " I'll  fire  him  to-night." 

And  Adelle  thereupon  went  back  to  the  house, 
gratified  that  she  had  enforced  discipline,  not  hear 
ing  the  contractor's  profanity  about  meddlesome 
women.  Later  on  the  same  day  after  the  workmen 
had  left,  —  they  knocked  off  from  their  eight  hours 
while  the  sun  was  still  high  in  the  heavens,  —  Adelle 
was  wandering  over  the  place,  idly  looking  for  a 
suitable  location  for  a  tennis-court.  The  doctor  had 
told  her  to  take  some  active  exercise  like  tennis  to 
prevent  becoming  unduly  stout.  And  Archie  had 
picked  out  a  site  below  the  new  house  on  fairly  level 

306 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

ground,  but  Adelle  wanted  to  have  the  court  cut  out 
of  the  steep  hillside  above  the  pool.  Having  found 
what  she  considered  to  be  the  right  spot,  which 
would  necessitate  much  expensive  excavation  and 
building  of  retaining  walls,  she  followed  a  little  worn 
path  through  the  eucalyptus  grove  over  the  brow  of 
the  hill,  curious  to  discover  where  it  led.  After  a 
time  she  emerged  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  and 
getting  through  the  barbed  wire  fence  that  marked 
the  boundary  of  her  own  estate,  she  followed  the 
path  along  the  farther  side  of  the  slope  through  a 
clearing  in  the  woods  to  an  open  field.  From  this 
side  there  was  a  wild  prospect  westwards  to  the  low 
haze  which  she  knew  indicated  the  presence  of  the 
Pacific.  The  country  on  this  slope  of  the  hills  seemed 
wild  and  uninhabited.  Adelle  did  not  remember  ever 
to  have  been  in  the  place  and  wondered  if  it  was 
accessible  by  motor.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  field 
there  was  one  of  the  tar-paper  shacks  that  the  work 
men  put  up  for  themselves,  and  the  path  evidently 
led  to  this  hut.  Usually  these  shacks  were  huddled 
together  in  bunches  nearer  the  town,  within  easy 
reach  of  shop  and  saloon,  but  this  one  stood  all  alone 
on  the  edge  of  the  clearing.  A  man  was  bending  over 
a  tin  basin  before  the  door,  apparently  washing  out 
some  clothes.  As  Adelle  approached,  he  looked  up 
from  his  washing  and  Adelle  recognized  the  imper 
tinent  stone  mason.  He  looked  at  her  coolly,  as  if 
this  time  she  were  trespassing  on  his  domain,  and 
as  she  came  leisurely  down  the  path,  trying  to  ignore 

307 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

his  presence,  he  calmly  threw  out  the  dirty  water 
from  his  pan  on  the  path  and  went  into  his  shack, 
pulling  the  door  to  after  him  with  a  bang.  Adelle 
suspected  the  smile  of  contempt  upon  his  face  as 
he  recognized  her.  She  did  not  like  the  movement 
he  had  made  in  throwing  the  dirty  water  from  his 
washpan  directly  in  her  path,  although  she  was  some 
distance  away.  Probably  by  this  time  he  had  learned 
his  fate  and  took  this  means  of  testifying  his  resent 
ment.  The  color  rose  in  her  pale  face.  She  was  not 
a  proud  woman,  had  no  large  amount  of  that  self- 
importance  which  is  the  almost  inevitable  result 
of  possessing  wealth.  But  one  of  the  penalties  of 
property  is  that  it  cultivates  whatever  egotism  and 
sensitiveness  to  its  prerogative  its  owner  is  capable 
of.  That  one  of  the  common  laborers  employed  upon 
her  estate  should  thus  openly  flout  her  made  Adelle 
angry. 

She  thought  first  to  turn  back,  —  her  walk  was 
really  aimless,  —  but  she  felt  that  the  man  would 
interpret  such  a  retreat  as  due  to  his  impertinence, 
would  think  that  she  was  afraid  of  him.  So  she  kept 
on  past  the  shack  into  another  open  field.  This  was 
but  the  beginning  of  a  wild  treeless  descent  towards 
the  ocean.  The  little  tar-paper  shack  was  the  only 
sign  of  habitation  in  sight.  There  was  an  immense 
panorama  of  tumbled  hill  and  valley  bounded  west 
ward  by  the  curving  coast-line  where  the  Pacific 
surges  broke  into  faint  lines  of  white  spume,  and 
where,  she  might  reflect  sadly,  the  ill-fated  Sea- 

308 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

board  Railroad  should  now  be  running  trains  to  open 
up  all  this  unoccupied  land  to  civilization.  How 
ever,  wild  and  unsettled  as  it  was,  it  offered  an  at 
tractive  view,  and  Adelle  at  once  coveted  it.  They 
must  buy  up  this  tract  over  the  hill  —  they  should 
have  looked  into  it  when  they  had  arranged  to  take 
Highcourt.  Thus  musing,  she  wandered  on  into  the 
country  until  the  sun  dipping  into  the  ocean  warned 
her  to  return  for  dinner. 

As  she  came  back  along  the  crest  of  the  hill,  she 
thought  again  of  the  discharged  stone  mason  and 
for  her  did  a  large  amount  of  reflection.  Why  was  he 
living  like  this  in  a  lonely  shack  far  away  from  every 
body?  Why  had  he  chosen  to  isolate  himself  from 
his  fellow-workmen,  who  herded  together  near  the 
town  where  they  could  slip  down  to  the  saloons  after 
their  work?  He  must  be  by  nature  a  sullen,  unsoci 
able  fellow.  And  what  sort  of  life  did  he  live  in  there, 
doing  his  own  washing  and  probably  also  his  own 
cooking?  A  kind  of  curiosity  about  the  truculent 
stone  mason  and  his  way  of  life  thus  occupied  Adelle 's 
unspeculative  mind.  He  was  a  good-looking  young 
fellow,  lean  and  well  muscled.  If  he  were  dissipated, 
as  she  had  been  told  all  the  laborers  were,  his  excesses 
had  not  yet  shown  in  his  person.  What  would  he  do 
now  that  he  had  lost  his  job  at  Highcourt? 

There  he  was  sitting  on  the  doorstep  of  his  shack, 
smoking  his  pipe,  his  bare  arms  akimbo,  staring  out 
across  the  sunset  void  towards  the  sea.  He  seemed 
also  to  be  meditating  with  himself  upon  something 

309 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

of  interest.  Upon  Adelle's  approach  this  time,  he  did 
not  take  himself  off,  but  continued  to  smoke  indif 
ferently,  totally  ignoring  her  presence.  As  she  came 
in  front  of  him,  she  stopped  involuntarily  arid  found 
herself  speaking  to  the  mason. 

"Good-evening,'*  was  all  she  said. 

The  man  mumbled  some  reply,  as  if  against  his 
will.  And  then  again  the  unexpected  happened  to 
Adelle,  —  at  least  the  unforeseen.  She  asked  him  a 
question.  It  was  a  simple  question,  but  it  was 
entirely  out  of  Adelle's  character  to  make  even  the 
small  advance  implied  by  asking  a  question,  espe 
cially  to  a  servant  who  had  been  discharged  on  her 
orders. 

"Do  you  live  up  here  alone?" 

"Have  been  living  here,"  the  man  replied  grudg 
ingly,  "till  to-day.  Don't  expect  to  much  longer," 
he  added  meaningly. 

Adelle  knew  that  he  was  referring  to  what  had 
occurred  earlier  in  the  day  between  them,  and  throw 
ing  the  blame  for  his  dislodgment  upon  her. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked  after  a 
pause. 

He  looked  at  her  with  mild  astonishment  for  her 
question  in  his  blue  eyes,  then  said,  - 

"Donno  exactly  —  get  drunk,  maybe,"  and  he 
glanced  at  her  truculently. 

Adelle  did  not  know  why  she  went  on  talking  to 
the  man,  but  her  curiosity  was  thoroughly  aroused 
and  the  questions  popped  unexpectedly  into  her  mind. 

310 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Why  did  you  kill  that  shrub  when  I  asked  you 
not  to  put  the  stone  upon  it?"  she  demanded  next. 

The  man  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with  an  ex 
pression  of  mingled  surprise,  dislike,  and  amusement. 

"Asked  me!     You  ordered  me." 

"Why  did  you  do  it?"  Adelle  repeated,  ignoring 
this  subtle  distinction. 

"Guess  I  felt  like  it,"  he  replied  evasively.  "I 
don't  take  no  orders  except  from  my  boss,"  he  grum 
bled.  "Don't  like  no  interference." 

"  But  it 's  my  place  —  you  were  working  for  me ! " 
Adelle  rejoined  convincingly. 

"And,"  the  mason  demanded  bluntly,  "who  in 
hell  are  you,  anyway?" 

Adelle  had  not  heard  such  direct  language  from  a 
man  for  a  good  many  years,  although  Archie  some 
times  hinted  the  same  thing  in  slightly  more  polished 
language.  At  first  she  was  staggered  and  thought 
she  had  made  a  mistake  in  giving  this  man  another 
opportunity  to  insult  her.  But  Adelle,  thanks  to  her 
origin,  was  not  easily  insulted.  She  stayed  on  —  to 
hear  more. 

"You've  got  a  big  pile  of  money  and  that  place 
and  lots  of  servants  and  motors  and  all  the  rest," 
the  mason  went  on  to  explain.  "But  that's  no 
reason  you  should  go  bossing  around  my  job  'bout 
what  you  don't  know  nothing.  I  get  my  orders  from 
the  boss,  my  boss  —  see?  And  I  know  how  to  lay  a 
wall  as  good  as  any  man  —  and  your  damned  bushes 
should  n't  been  there." 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"You  need  n't  be  insulting,"  Adelle  gasped  with 
an  attempt  at  dignity. 

"Insultin'!"  the  man  blazed.  "Who's  insultin'? 
It's  you  who  are  insultin'  to  God's  earth  —  rich 
folks  like  you  who've  got  more  money  that  ain't 
yours  by  rights  than  you  know  what  to  do  with. 
You  think  because  you  pay  the  bill  you  own  the 
earth  and  every  man  on  it.  But  you  don't  —  not 
everybody!  And  the  quicker  you  and  your  kind 
learn  that -the  easier  it  will  be  for  all  of  us." 

This  was  what  Major  Pound  meant  by  "anarchy 
among  the  working-classes."  She  had  often  heard 
him  and  Nelson  Carhart  deplore  this,  —  using  in 
terchangeably  the  two  dread  terms,  "  socialism  "  and 
"anarchy."  Both  the  gentlemen  were  of  the  opinion 
that  "before  we  see  an  end  to  this  spirit  in  the  work 
ing-classes,  we  shall  have  bloodshed."  But  it  was  the 
first  time  Adelle  had  met  the  thing  face  to  face, 
and  it  gave  her  a  faint  thrill.  She  tried  to  think  of 
some  of  Major  Pound's  excellent  arguments  directed 
against  the  "anarchy"  of  the  laboring-classes. 

"You're  paid  good  wages,  very  high  wages,"  she 
said  after  a  time,  remembering  that  that  was  one  of 
the  grievances  gentlemen  most  often  complained  of 
—  that  laborers  were  paid  altogether  too  much, 
thanks  to  the  unions,  so  that  no  profit  was  left  for 
the  men  who  supplied  capital,  and  also  that  they  did 
less  work  and  poorer  work  than  they  had  once  done 
when  they  got  only  half  the  wages  now  paid. 

"You  think  five  dollars  a  day  is  big  money,  don't 
312 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

you?  It  would  n't  go  far  to  fit  you  out!"  He  nodded 
at  Adelle's  rich  dress.  "It  would  hardly  get  you  a 
dinner  —  would  n't  pay  for  the  booze  your  husband 
will  drink  to-night." 

Adelle  winced  at  this  shot,  because  it  was  only  too 
evident  to  the  servants  and  the  men  about  the  place 
that  Archie  drank  too  much  at  times.  How  could 
she  complain  of  the  workingman's  drinking  and 
wasting  his  money,  which  was  the  next  argument 
she  remembered  from  her  neighbors'  repertory, 
when  her  own  husband  drank  more  than  was  good 
for  him  and  many  of  the  men  they  knew  socially 
did  the  same? 

"  It 's  no  thanks  to  you  rich  people  we  get  big  pay 
either,"  the  man  continued.  "You  'd  like  mighty  well 
to  cut  it  down  to  nothing  if  you  could  get  your  work 
done." 

That  was  perfectly  true.  All  their  crowd  at  Belle- 
vue  were  perpetually  complaining  of  the  high  wages 
they  had  to  pay.  They  gave  it  as  an  excuse  for  all 
sorts  of  petty  meanness.  Adelle  felt  that  Major 
Pound  would  have  the  suitable  reply  to  the  mason's 
argument,  but  she  could  not  remember  it. 

"  Five  dollars  a  day  for  a  day's  hard  work  ain't  so 
much  either,  when  you  think  how  many  days  in  the 
year  there 's  nothing  doing  for  one  reason  or  another. 
Last  year  I  only  had  four  months'  work  all  told  on 
account  of  the  strikes." 

"Yes,"  Adelle  joined  in  eagerly,  feeling  that  this 
ground  was  familiar  and  safe,  "but  the  strikes  were 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

your  own  fault,  were  n't  they?  You  did  n't  have  to 
strike?" 

For  reply  the  mason  looked  wearily  at  her,  and 
rising  from  his  seat  on  the  doorstep  with  a  gesture 
remarked,  — 

"Well,  I  can't  stay  here  gassin'  all  night,  lady. 
I  must  hike  along  soon  to  get  the  Frisco  train.  .  .  . 
What  do  you  care  about  it  anyway,  whether  the 
strikes  are  our  fault  or  not?  You've  got  plenty  of 
the  stuff,  and  we  little  folks  ain't  got  nothin'  but 
what  we  earn,  and  that  ought  to  satisfy  you.  We 
must  work  for  you  sometimes,  and  you  don't  have 
to  do  a  damn  thing  for  anybody  no  times.  You  Ve 
got  the  luck,  and  we  ain't!  See?  And  that's  about 
all  there  is  to  it." 

Adelle  felt  that  so  far  as  her  own  case  went,  the 
man  had  come  remarkably  near  the  truth.  The 
mason  turned,  with  an  afterthought. 

"And  I  'm  not  whinin'  'bout  it  neither,  remember 
that !  I  can  always  earn  enough  to  keep  me  goin'  and 
get  whiskey  when  I  want  it." 

He  said  it  with  a  touch  of  pride,  his  workman's 
boast  that  he  was  beholden  to  no  one  for  meat  or 
drink.  It  was  more  than  Archie  could  say  now  or 
at  any  time  in  his  life. 

"Are  you  married?"  Adelle  asked,  feeling  that  if 
there  was  a  woman  in  the  situation  another  line  of 
argument  might  be  used. 

"Married!  Hell,  no!  What  do  I  want  of  being 
married?" 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Married  men,  Adelle  had  heard,  were  likely  to 
be  steadier  workers  than  the  unmarried.  Also  more 
what  her  class  called  "moral." 

11 1  should  think  you  would  want  to  have  your  own 
home  and  children  in  it,"  she  ventured. 

The  mason  gave  her  an  ironical  look  full  of  meaning. 

"That  would  sure  be  nice,  if  I  could  always  give 
'em  plenty  to  eat  and  education,  the  same  as  you 
can.  But  what  can  a  man  do  with  a  wife  when  he 's 
here  to-day  and  off  to  the  other  end  of  the  land  to 
morrow  lookin'  for  a  job?  A  steady  job  in  one  place 
where  it's  fit  for  a  woman  to  live  ain't  to  be  found 
every  day.  ...  A  workingman  who  marries,  unless 
he's  got  money  in  the  bank  and  a  sure  payin'  job 
that'll  last,  is  a  fool  or  worse.  What  good  is  it  to 
bring  children  into  the  world  to  be  like  him  or  maybe 
worse?" 

Adelle  had  no  reply  to  this  blunt  logic.  Marriage, 
he  seemed  to  think,  was  one  of  the  privileges  of  the 
rich  class,  which  she  was  sure  ought  not  to  be  so. 

"The  trouble  with  the  workingman,  ma'am,  is 
that  he  has  done  that  too  long, — got  families  that 
had  to  live  the  best  they  could,  any  old  way,  and 
take  any  old  job  they  could  get.  That's  what's 
made  it  easy  goin'  for  you !  But  the  workingman  is 
learnin'  a  thing  or  two.  Men  like  me  won't  get  mar 
ried,  nor  have  children  to  slave  for  the  rich." 

"What  do  the  girls  do?"  Adelle  asked,  thinking 
of  her  own  fate  if  she  had  been  left  in  the  Church 
Street  rooming-house. 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

The  mason  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  came  out 
with  another  brutality. 

"Some  of  'em  go  into  the  houses  for  your  men  to 
use  —  there's  always  that  for  'em,"  he  added,  with 
a  disagreeable  laugh.  "No,  ma'am,  I  tell  you  until 
things  are  made  more  right  in  this  world,  it's  better 
for  a  poor  man  to  get  along  the  best  he  can  without 
draggin'  a  woman  after  him  and  a  lot  of  helpless 
children." 

"I  did  n't  know  it  was  as  bad  as  that,"  Adelle 
remarked  helplessly. 

"I  guess,  ma'am,  there  are  a  good  many  things 
about  life  you  don't  know." 

"That's  so,"  Adelle  admitted  honestly. 

"But  I  know!"  the  mason  exclaimed  with  rising 
excitement.  "I've  seen  it  over  and  over,  every 
where.  I  've  seen  it  in  my  own  family,"  he  said  in  a 
burst  of  bitter  confidence.  "There  were  eight  of  us 
and  we  were  only  middling  poor  until  father  died. 
The  old  man  was  a  carpenter,  up  north  in  Sacra 
mento  County.  He  had  a  small  place  outside  of 
town  and  we  raised  some  stuff.  But  he  got  sick  and 
died,  when  he  weren't  forty,  and  mother  had  the 
whole  eight  of  us  on  her  hands.  I  was  just  twelve 
and  my  oldest  brother  fifteen,  —  he  was  the  only  one 
could  earn  a  dollar.  We  got  on  somehow,  those  that 
lived.  Two  of  my  sisters  are  married  to  farmers 
and  there's  another  —  well,  she's  the  other  thing." 
He  stopped  to  look  belligerently  at  Adelle  as  if  she 
had  somehow  to  do  with  it.  "She  was  married  to  a 

316 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

workingman,  good  enough,  I  guess,  but  he  got  out  of 
work  and  heard  of  something  up  north  and  never 
came  back.  .  .  .  We  boys  scattered  around  where  we 
could  get  work.  Two  of  us  is  married  and  got  fami 
lies.  Guess  they  wish  of  ten  enough  they  had  n't,  too!" 

Adelle  was  absorbed  by  the  mason's  personal 
statement.  She  had  forgotten  by  this  time  her  first 
self-consciousness  in  talking  to  the  discharged  work 
man,  and  he,  too,  seemed  less  truculent,  as  if  he  en 
joyed  letting  off  steam  and  stating  his  point  of  view 
to  his  ex-employer. 

"How  old  are  you?"  Adelle  asked. 

"Twenty-eight,"  the  mason  replied. 

That  was  only  a  few  years  older  than  Adelle  her 
self,  but  she  recognized  that  the  man's  experience  of 
living  had  been  far  more  than  hers,  also  deeper,  so 
that  he  was  justified  in  having  opinions  on  the  seri 
ous  things  of  life.  Wealth,  she  might  think,  was  not 
the  only  road  to  "a  full  life"  so  much  talked  of  in 
her  circle. 

"Have  you  always  been  a  stone  mason?"  she 
wanted  to  know. 

"Pretty  much  ever  since  I  could  lift  a  stone.  An 
old  feller  took  me  from  mother  to  work  for  my  keep 
when  I  was  fourteen.  He  used  to  do  some  mason 
work,  and  he  knew  how  to  lay  stone  —  none  bet 
ter!  He  learned  his  trade  back  East  where  he  come 
from.  He  was  one  of  the  real  forty-niners,  and  knew 
my  grandfather's  folks  —  they  all  came  to  Cali 
fornia  the  same  time.  .  .  .  I've  been  all  over  this 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

country,  up  and  down  the  Coast,  to  Alasky  and  over 
in  Nevada,  at  Carson  City;  drilling  for  oil,  too,  south. 
Oh,  I've  seen  things,"  he  mused  complacently, 
puffing  at  his  pipe  and  scratching  his  bare  arms  that 
were  as  smooth  and  brown  as  fine  bronze.  "And  I 
tell  you  there  ain't  much  in  it  for  the  laboring-man, 
no  matter  what  wages  he  gets,  unless  he 's  got  extry 
luck,  which  most  of  'em  ain't.  No  wonder  he  goes 
after  booze  when  he  has  the  chance.  What's  there 
in  it  for  him  anyhow?" 

Adelle,  who  had  not  been  educated  to  philan 
thropy  and  social  service,  did  not  attempt  to  answer 
this  difficult  question. 

"Not  that  I  booze  often,"  the  mason  explained 
with  pride.  "  I  reckon  not  to  make  a  hog  of  myself, 
but  when  you  Ve  been  off  on  a  job  for  months,  work 
ing  all  day  long  six  days  in  the  week  in  the  heat  and 
dust,  you  accumulate  a  thirst  and  a  devilment  in 
you  that  needs  letting  out." 

He  grinned  at  Adelle  as  if  he  felt  that  she  might 
be  sympathetic  with  his  simple  point  of  view  and 
added,  - 

"I  guess  that's  what  made  me  sassy  to  you  this 
morning!" 

It  was  his  sole  apology.  They  both  laughed,  ac 
cepting  it  as  such,  and  Adelle,  to  shift  the  topic, 
remarked,  — 

"  You  Ve  got  a  nice  place  up  here  for  your  house." 

The  mason  wrinkled  his  lips  against  the  suggestion 
of  sentiment. 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"The  shack's  all  right  —  kind  of  fur  to  tote  sup 
plies  over  the  hill.  But  I  can't  stand  those  dagoes 
and  their  dirty  ways.  They  have  too  many  boarders 
where  they  live." 

His  American  ancestry  betrayed  itself  thus  in  his 
selection  of  an  exclusive  position  for  his  bunk.  The 
conversation  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  natural  con 
clusion,  but  Adelle  did  not  start.  At  last  she  said 
what  she  had  had  in  mind  for  some  time,  — 

"You'd  better  stay  here  —  come  back  to  work 
Monday." 

"I  don't  know  as  I  want  to,"  the  mason  replied, 
with  a  touch  of  his  former  truculency.  "  I  can  get  all 
the  work  I  want  most  anywheres." 

"I'll  speak  to  Mr.  Ferguson  about  it,"  Adelle 
said.  "Good-night!" 

She  could  not  do  more,  she  thought,  as  she  hurried 
along  the  path,  although  she  was  unreasonably  anx 
ious  not  to  have  the  young  stone  mason  leave,  more 
anxious  than  she  had  been  that  morning  to  have  him 
discharged  for  his  insolence  to  her.  When  she  was 
about  to  enter  the  wood,  she  turned  and  looked  back 
at  the  shack.  She  hoped  that  he  was  not  going  to  start 
on  a  spree.  The  mason,  who  had  been  sitting  on  the 
step  where  she  had  left  him,  rose  as  if  he  had  come 
to  a  sudden  resolution  and  marched  into  the  shack. 
Adelle  felt  sure  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go 
to  San  Francisco  and  get  his  "booze."  She  divined 
the  craving  in  him  for  excitement,  some  relief  from 
his  toilsome  hours  under  the  hot  sun.  Possibly  he 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

had  fought  against  this  desire  all  the  summer,  re 
strained  from  breaking  loose  by  a  prudence  which 
she  had  defeated  by  arbitrarily  discharging  him  from 
his  job  and  could  not  so  easily  restore  with  her 
change  of  whim.  She  did  not  feel  any  personal 
blame  for  his  action,  however,  nor  did  she  blame 
him  for  yielding  to  this  gross  temptation,  as  her 
more  conservative  neighbors  might,  although  they 
sometimes  yielded  themselves  both  to  drink  and  the 
stock  market  to  stimulate  their  nerves.  She  merely 
hoped  that  he  would  think  better  of  his  purpose. 
For  the  man  interested  her,  and  before  she  dressed 
for  dinner  she  sent  a  servant  to  the  village  with  a 
note  for  the  contractor,  asking  him  to  reengage  the 
discharged  stone  mason  and  be  sure  that  he  came 
back  to  work  on  the  Monday. 


XXXVI 

NEVERTHELESS,  when  Adelle  looked  for  him  the 
next  Monday  morning  his  was  not  among  the  faces 
of  the  men  at  work  on  the  lofty  retaining  wall.  She 
asked  the  contractor  about  him,  but  the  boss  merely 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  that  somebody  had 
seen  the  man  getting  on  the  late  Saturday  night 
train  for  the  city. 

"  It's  too  bad,"  he  added,  to  punish  Adelle  for  in 
terfering  in  his  business.  "He  was  a  mighty  good 
worker,  and  you  don't  get  that  kind  often  these 
days.  I  'd  rather  have  him  than  any  four  of  these 
dagoes." 

He  waved  a  disdainful  arm  at  the  squad  of  sons 
of  sunny  Italy  who  were  toiling  along  the  wall. 

Adelle  did  not  forget  the  young  stone  mason,  but 
she  could  do  nothing  more  for  him  even  had  she 
known  just  what  to  do.  Then  one  morning  when  she 
made  her  usual  rounds,  she  was  happily  surprised 
to  find  him  back  on  the  job,  working  as  was  his  wont 
a  little  to  one  side  of  his  foreign  mates  with  his  own 
helper.  His  face  looked  as  red  as  ever,  and  his  eyes 
were  also  suspiciously  red,  but  this  was  the  only  evi 
dence  of  his  spree  that  she  could  see.  As  Adelle  ad 
vanced  to  the  place  where  he  was  working,  the  mason 
glanced  up  and  replied  gruffly  to  her  greeting,  — 

321 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Morning,  ma'am!" 

She  knew  that  he  was  not  ashamed  of  himself, 
merely  embarrassed.  And  she  thought  that  if  he  had 
not  felt  kindly  to  her,  he  would  not  have  come  back 
to  Highcourt  to  work  after  his  spree  —  or  was  it, 
perhaps,  his  pleasant  shack  on  the  hill  that  lured 
him  to  his  old  job?  Adelle  did  not  tell  him  that  she 
was  glad  to  see  him  back,  but  passed  on  without 
stopping.  Presently,  however,  when  his  helper  had 
disappeared  for  a  load  of  mortar  she  came  back  to  the 
place  and  watched  him.  He  worked  as  steadily  and 
swiftly  as  ever,  his  lithe  bronze  arm  lifting  the  stones 
accurately  to  their  places,  his  wrist  giving  a  prac 
ticed  flip  to  each  trowel  full  of  mortar,  which  landed 
it  on  the  right  spot.  Adelle  wanted  to  talk  to  him 
again,  to  ask  him  questions,  but  did  not  know  how 
to  begin.  Apparently  he  meant  to  let  her  make  all 
the  advances. 

"That's  fascinating  work,"  she  said  at  length. 

He  flipped  a  fresh  dab  of  mortar  to  place  and  re 
plied,  — 

"You  might  think  so  lookin'  on  —  but  no  work  is 
fascinatin'  when  you  Ve  had  too  much  of  it.  I  Ve 
laid  enough  stone  to  last  me  a  lifetime." 

"What  else  had  you  rather  do?" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  pausing  a  moment  to  wipe  the 

sweat  from  his  face  with  the  back  of  his  shirt-sleeve, 

'  'Most  anything  at  times!   I  tried  mining  once,  but 

it's  worse   and   uncertain.      And   lumbering  —  no 

pay.   When  I  was  a  kid  I  wanted  to  be  a  doctor  — 

322 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

that's  before  I  left  school.  A  nice  sort  of  doctor  I 'd 
make,  would  n't  I?" 

He  laughed  at  himself,  but  Adelle  felt  that  in 
spite  of  his  mirthless  laugh  his  mind  was  chafing. 
He  was  dissatisfied  with  himself  and  the  work  he  was 
doing  and  hungered  for  some  larger  demand  upon  his 
powers  than  laying  so  many  feet  of  rock  wall  per 
day.  She  herself  had  so  little  of  this  sort  of  hunger 
in  her  own  soul  that  it  made  the  young  mason  all 
the  more  interesting  to  her. 

"  You  might  save  up  your  money  and  try  —  "  she 
began. 

"To  be  a  doctor?"  he  laughed  back.  "  I  saved  up 
once — got  most  five  hundred  dollars  and  a  feller  came 
along  and  persuaded  me  to  put  it  into  some  land. 
Well,  I  got  the  land  still.  .  .  .  No,  ma'am,  there  ain't 
much  chance  to  change  for  the  workingman  when  he's 
once  fixed  in  his  creek  bed.  He  must  just  roll  along 
with  the  rest  the  best  he  can.  And  I  'm  better  off  than 
most  because  I  Ve  got  a  paying  trade.  Lots  of  boys 
like  me  and  my  brothers  don't  learn  ever  to  do  any 
thing,  and  just  slave  on  all  their  lives  at  any  job 
comes  handy  until  they  are  all  wore  out.  Lots  and 
lots.  Their  folks  can't  keep  'em  in  school  and  they 
never  know  enough  to  more'n  sign  their  names. 
All  they  are  good  for  is  rough  work,  same  as  the  dago 
helper  here.  He  thinks  two  dollars  a  day  big  money. 
I  guess  it  is  to  him." 

He  spat  disdainfully  with  all  an  American's  con 
tempt  for  the  inferior. 

323 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"I  expect  where  he  come  from  it  was  a  fortune, 
two  dollars  a  day,  eh?"  He  appealed  to  Adelle  to 
appreciate  the  joke.  "Think  of  that  now!  And  he's 
got  a  woman  and  kids,  and  I  bet  has  saved  money, 
too.  But  he's  only  a  dago,"  he  explained  tolerantly. 

"Say,"  he  resumed  after  a  pause.  "It  costs 
more  'n  two  dollars  to  go  to  the  opery  in  San  Fran 
cisco." 

"Did  you  go  to  the  opera?"  Adelle  asked,  recall 
ing  that  Archie  had  said  something  about  the  current 
engagement  of  the  New  York  Opera  company.  They 
had  a  box  or  something  for  the  season  —  they  al 
ways  did.  "What  did  they  give?" 

"Oh,  it  was  some  German  piece.  It  took  place 
in  the  woods  with  a  lot  of  folks  in  armor,  but  the 
music  was  fine,  and  there  was  one  place  where  they 
had  a  castle  upon  a  big  hill,  like  that  where  my  shack 
is,  way  off  towards  the  clouds,  and  a  river  down  in 
front  going  by  with  women  in  it  swimming,"  and  he 
described  with  relish  the  last  act  of  the  "Rheingold- 
dammerung,"  which  Adelle  recognized  because  she 
had  seen  it  many  times  in  Europe  and  been  horribly 
bored  by  it.  The  story  of  the  opera  seemed  to  in 
terest  the  young  mason  especially.  He  retold  it 
minutely  for  Adelle's  benefit,  offering  amusing  ex 
planations  of  its  mythological  mysteries. 

"But  how  did  you  happen  to  go  to  the  opera?" 
Adelle  asked. 

"Well,"  he  said  in  vague  diffidence,  "I  was  feel 
ing  pretty  good  by  that  time,  and  I  seen  the  poster. 

324 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

I  had  the  price — whyshouldn't  I  go?"  he  demanded 
brusquely ;  and  with  another  sardonic  laugh  the  real 
motive  came  out,  —  "I  wanted  to  see  what  you  folks 
who  go  to  the  opery  see — how  you  enjoy  yourselves. 
Well,  the  opery  ain't  so  bad  —  it  ain't  one  bit  bad," 
and  he  attempted  to  hum  the  Rheingold  music.  "  I 
believe  I  '11  go  to  the  opery  again  when  I  'm  on  the 
loose  and  don't  know  any  better  way  to  blow  my 
money.  I  like  music,"  he  added  inconsequentially. 
"Mother  used  to  sing  sometimes." 

This  was  as  far  as  they  got  conversationally  that 
day.  Something  interrupted  Adelle  in  the  midst 
of  the  musical  discussion  and  she  did  not  have  a 
chance  to  return  to  the  wall.  But  she  had  almost  daily 
opportunity  for  talk  with  the  young  mason  in  the 
succeeding  weeks,  for  after  his  return  from  his  spree, 
he  worked  steadily  on  his  job  every  day.  He  was  one 
of  the  very  few  American-born  workmen  employed 
at  Highcourt,  and  after  their  misunderstanding  and 
subsequent  agreement,  Adelle  felt  better  acquainted 
with  him  than  with  the  others.  He  taught  her  to 
h?ndle  the  trowel  and  to  lay  stone.  After  a  few  at 
tempts,  she  managed  quite  well  and  found  a  curious 
pleasure  in  the  manual  labor  of  fitting  stone  to  stone 
and  properly  bedding  the  whole  in  cement.  She 
learned  to  select  the  right  pieces  with  a  rapid  glance 
and  to  chip  an  obtrusive  corner  or  face  a  rock  with  a 
few  taps  of  the  heavy  hammer.  It  gave  her  a  pleasure 
akin  to  her  experiments  in  jewelry,  and  it  must  be 
said  the  results  were  better.  She  used  to  show  her 

325 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

visitors  proudly  the  bit  of  wall  she  had  laid  up  her 
self  under  the  young  mason's  direction  and  assert 
that,  instead  of  bookbinding  or  jewelry  or  other 
ladylike  occupations,  she  meant  to  set  up  stone 
walls  about  Highcourt  for  her  recreation.  The  Belle- 
vue  people  considered  her  whim  a  harmless  bit  of 
eccentricity  in  the  young  mistress  of  Highcourt,  and 
she  was  the  object  of  many  a  good-humored  joke 
about  her  new  method  of  "beating  the  unions." 
Little  did  any  of  these  pleasure-loving  rich  folk  sus 
pect  where  Adelle's  instinct  for  manual  labor  came 
from,  how  natural  it  was  for  her  to  work  at  coarse 
tasks  with  her  large,  shapely  hands. 

She  needed  all  the  distraction  she  could  get,  for 
these  were  not  happy  days  for  Adelle  within  her  big 
new  house.  The  inexplicable  stringency  of  money 
grew  worse,  and  there  were  constant  quarrels  be 
tween  her  and  Archie  over  her  " extravagance" 
when  he  was  at  home.  Adelle  could  not  understand 
why  she  should  be  obliged  to  curb  her  prodigal  hand 
in  making  "improvements"  at  Highcourt.  Did  the 
trust  officers  not  tell  her  that  hers  was  a  l '  large  for 
tune,"  not  far  from  five  millions,  enough  surely  to 
permit  a  woman  freedom  for  every  whim?  If  there 
was  trouble  about  money,  it  must  be  Archie's  fault: 
she  wished  she  had  never  consented  to  take  her  prop 
erty  out  of  the  safe  keeping  of  the  careful  trust  com 
pany.  Her  logic  in  these  discussions,  if  irrefutable, 
was  bitter,  and  Archie  resented  it,  all  the  more  be- 

326 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

cause  he  knew  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself 
with  his  wife's  ample  fortune,  and  allowed  stronger 
men  to  bite  him.  He  had  not  sufficient  character 
to  confess  the  fact  and  refrain  altogether  from  fur 
ther  speculation.  He  tried  instead  to  make  good 
what  had  been  lost  in  Seaboard  and  was  always 
nagging  Adelle  to  dispose  of  certain  stocks  and  bonds 
that  still  remained  from  the  investments  of  the  pru 
dent  trust  company.  But  Adelle  was  obstinate:  she 
would  not  sell  anything  more.  So  Archie's  large 
debit  at  his  brokers  went  on  rolling  up,  and  there 
continued  to  be  "  words"  at  Highcourt  whenever  he 
was  there,  which  was  less  often  then  he  might  have 
been. 

Proverbially,  money  is  the  cause  of  the  bitterest 
disputes  in  families.  Abstractly  it  might  seem  remark 
able  that  this  should  be  so,  but  the  peculiar  nature 
of  property  of  all  sorts  is  that  it  becomes  the  inmost 
shrine  of  its  possessor's  being,  and  when  the  shrine 
is  robbed  or  desecrated,  the  injured  personality  re 
sents  the  outrage  with  bitterness.  Many  a  man  or 
woman  will  submit  with  Christian  fortitude  to  in 
sults  upon  character  or  positive  unjust  burdens,  but 
will  flame  into  rebellion  at  the  least  touch  upon  the 
purse.  In  the  case  of  Archie  and  Adelle  it  was  all 
the  more  remarkable  because  neither  had  been  born 
to  wealth  so  that  property  could  become  a  part  of 
the  nature:  they  were  both  "the  spoiled  children  of 
fortune"  as  the  story-books  say,  having  had  their 
wealth  thrust  upon  them  unexpectedly,  and  so  might 

327 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

take  its  loss  lightly.  Not  at  all !  Adelle  felt  as  much 
wronged  as  if  she  had  been  the  last  of  an  ancient  line 
of  dukes  and  duchesses  or  had  accumulated  the  riches 
of  Clark's  Field  by  a  lifetime  of  toil  and  self-denial. 
Was  it  not  hers  ?  Had  the  law  not  made  it  inalien 
ably  a  part  of  her?  Such  is  human  nature  in  a  capi 
talistic  society. 

Bellevue  began  to  gossip  about  the  couple  at  High- 
court,  and  divided  as  always  into  two  camps  with 
shades  of  opinion  within  each  camp.  The  women 
were  generally  for  Archie,  even  if  he  had  been  fool 
ish  with  his  wife's  money  and  was  conducting  his 
"affair"  with  Irene  Pointer  rather  recklessly.  If 
his  wife  were  less  stupid  and  selfish  about  not  going 
about  with  him  in  society,  she  could  have  "held 
him."  The  men  liked  Archie  well  enough,  but  knew 
that  he  was  "no  good." 


XXXVII 

IT  was  some  time  after  the  young  mason's  return  to 
his  job  before  Adelle  even  learned  his  name.  She 
had  no  curiosity  about  his  name,  indicating  how  little 
of  the  personal  or  sentimental  there  was  in  the  in 
terest  she  felt  in  him.  He  was  just  the  "mason,"  and 
she  always  addressed  him  as  "mason"  until  one  day 
she  heard  the  foreman  call  him  — ' '  Clark ' ' ;  and  then, 
when  the  foreman  had  passed  on,  she  said  with  mild 
curiosity,  — 

"  Is  your  name  Clark?" 

"Yes,"  the  man  replied  with  a  touch  of  pride  in 
the  pure  English  name,  —  "  Clark  without  the  e.  I  'm 
Tom  Clark.  Father's  name  was  Stanley  Clark,  same 
as  grandfather's.  Everybody  about  Sacramento 
used  to  know  old  Stan  Clark!" 

"  My  name  was  Clark,  too,  before  I  was  married," 
Adelle  remarked. 

"Did  you  spell  it  with  an  e?"  Tom  Clark  asked. 

"No,  the  same  as  yours,  without  the  e,"  she  re 
plied. 

"We  must  be  related  somewheres,"  the  mason 
laughed,  with  a  sense  of  irony. 

"Where  did  your  family  come  from?" 

"Somewhere  East —  Missouri,  I  think.  But  that 
was  long  ago  —  before  the  gold  times.  Grandfather 

329 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Stan  came  out  in  forty-nine  and  settled  on  the  Sac 
ramento  River,  and  that  was  where  father  was 
raised." 

Adelle  felt  a  slight  increase  in  her  interest  in  the 
mason  from  their  having  the  same  name,  and  she 
remarked  idly,  — 

"So  your  family  lived  once  in  Missouri?" 

"The  Clarks  came  from  Missouri  —  that's  all 
I  know.  Mother 's  folks  were  Scotch-Irish,  and  that 's 
where  I  get  my  red  head,  I  guess!" 

Like  most  Americans  of  his  class  he  knew  nothing 
more  of  his  origin  than  the  preceding  two  genera 
tions.  The  family  was  lost  in  the  vague  limbo  of 
"back  East  somewheres."  Yet  he  was  proud  that 
the  Clarks  had  come  from  the  East  and  were  among 
the  first  Americans  to  enter  the  golden  land  of 
opportunity.  And  he  apologized  for  the  failure  of 
his  ancestors  to  attach  to  themselves  a  larger  share 
of  prosperity. 

"If  we  could  have  hung  on  to  grandfather's  old 
ranch,  we'd  not  one  of  us  been  working  for  other 
folks  to-day.  He  had  a  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  as 
pretty  a  bit  of  land  as  there  is  in  Sacramento  Valley 
—  part  of  it  is  now  in  the  city  limits,  too.  But  father 
was  sort  of  slack  in  some  ways,  —  did  n't  realize 
what  a  big  future  California  had,  —  so  he  sold  off 
most  of  the  ranch  for  almost  nothing,  and  mother 
had  to  part  with  the  rest." 

He  flipped  a  trowelful  of  mortar  and  whistled  as 
if  to  express  thus  his  sense  of  fate. 

330 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Too  bad,"  Adelle  replied.  "They  say  you  ought 
never  to  sell  any  land.  It's  all  likely  to  be  more 
valuable  some  day." 

"Sure ! "  the  mason  rejoined  sourly.  "That 's  why 
most  of  us  work  for  a  few  of  you ! ' ' 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Adelle  asked,  puzzled  by 
the  economic  theory  implied  in  this  remark. 

But  before  Clark  could  explain,  Adelle  was  sum 
moned  to  the  house.  As  she  went  up  the  slippery 
path  she  thought  about  what  the  mason  had  said, 
about  his  being  a  Clark,  too.  She  felt  herself  on  much 
closer  terms  of  knowledge  and  sympathy  with  this 
workman  of  her  own  name  than  with  the  fashionable 
women  who  had  come  for  luncheon  to  Highcourt. 

Hitherto  Adelle  had  met  in  the  journey  of  life 
mainly  coarse-minded  persons  —  I  do  not  mean  by 
this,  nasty  or  vulgar  people,  but  simply  men  and 
women  who  were  content  to  live  on  the  surfaces  and 
let  others  do  for  them  what  thinking  they  needed  - 
people  upon  whom  the  experience  of  living  could 
make  little  fine  impression.  In  the  rooming-house, 
with  her  aunt  and  uncle  and  the  transient  roomers, 
naturally  there  had  been  no  refinement  of  any  sort. 
Nor,  in  spite  of  its  luxury  and  its  boast  of  educating 
the  daughters  of  "our  best  families,"  had  the  expen 
sive  boarding-school  to  which  the  trust  company  in 
their  blindness  condemned  their  ward  added  much  to 
Adelle's  spiritual  opportunities.  Pussy  Comstock, 
for  all  her  sophistication,  was  no  better,  and  as  for 
the  "two  Pols"  and  Archie  Davis,  the  reader  can 

33i 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

judge  what  fineness  of  mind  or  soul  was  to  be  found 
in  them.  Even  the  officers  of  the  Washington  Trust 
Company,  who  were  of  indubitable  respectability 
and  prominence  in  their  own  community,  —  every 
thing  that  bankers  should  be,  —  had  neither  mental 
nor  spiritual  elevation,  and  coarsely  pigeonholed 
their  ideas  about  life  as  they  had  done  with  Adelle. 
The  thinking  of  the  best  spirits  in  Bellevue  has  been 
exemplified  in  the  utterance  upon  labor  that  Adelle 
had  taken  from  Major  Pound  and  Nelson  Carhart 
who  are  doubtless  still  enunciating  the  same  trite 
remarks  at  the  dinner-table  and  in  their  clubs  with 
a  profound  conviction  of  thinking  seriously  upon 
important  topics.  All  these  diverse  human  elements, 
which  thus  far  had  been  cast  up  in  Adelle's  path, 
were  good  people  enough  —  some  of  them  earnest 
and  serious  about  living,  but  all  without  exception 
coarse-minded.  All  the  wealth  of  Clark's  Field  had 
not  yet  given  its  owner  one  simple,  clear-thinking 
human  companion. 

The  young  stone  mason,  Tom  Clark,  outwardly 
crude  and  coarse  and  with  a  knowledge  of  life  limited 
by  his  personal  estate,  was  nevertheless  the  first  per 
son  Adelle  had  met  who  tried  to  do  his  own  thinking 
about  life.  It  was  not  very  important  thinking,  per 
haps,  but  it  had  for  Adelle  the  attraction  of  freshness 
and  sincerity.  The  mason  stimulated  the  mistress  of 
Highcourt  intellectually  and  spiritually,  which  would 
have  made  the  good  ladies  at  luncheon  with  her  that 
day  laugh  or  do  worse.  Adelle  felt  that  he  could  help 

332 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

her  to  understand  many  things  that  she  was  begin 
ning  to  think  about,  that  were  stirring  in  her  dumb 
soul  and  troubling  her.  And  she  knew  that  she  could 
talk  to  him  about  them,  as  she  could  not  talk  to 
George  Pointer  nor  Major  Pound  nor  even  Archie. 
In  her  simple  way,  when  she  discovered  what  she 
wanted,  she  went  directly  after  it  until  she  was  satis 
fied.  She  meant  to  talk  more  with  the  young  stone 
mason  of  the  widespread  race  of  Clark. 

The  next  time  Adelle  made  the  ascent  of  the  hill 
behind  Highcourt  she  took  her  little  boy  with  her, 
and  after  wandering  about  the  eucalyptus  wood  with 
him  in  search  of  flowers  sent  him  back  to  the  house 
with  his  nurse  and  kept  on  over  the  hill  to  the  shack 
where  Clark  lived.  She  examined  the  tar-paper  struc 
ture  more  carefully,  noticing  that  the  mason  had  set 
out  some  vegetables  beside  the  door  and  that  a  little 
vine  was  climbing  up  the  paper  fagade  of  the  tem 
porary  home.  She  knew  that  the  mason  was  still 
at  his  work  below,  and  so  she  ventured  to  peek  into 
the  shack.  Everything  within  the  one  small  room 
was  clean  and  orderly.  There  was  a  rough  bunk  in 
one  corner,  which  was  made  into  a  neat  bed,  and 
beneath  this  were  arranged  in  pairs  the  man's  extra 
shoes,  one  pair  bleached  by  lime  and  another  newer 
pair  of  modern  cut  for  dress  use.  In  one  corner  was 
a  small  camper's  stove  with  a  piece  of  drain-pipe  for 
chimney;  a  board  table,  one  or  two  boxes,  and  some 
automobile  oil  cans  made  up  the  furniture  of  the 
room.  There  was  also  a  little  lime-spotted  canvas 

333 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

trunk  that  probably  contained  the  mason's  better 
clothes  and  his  extra  tools.  On  the  table  was  a  lamp 
and  a  few  soiled  magazines,  with  which  Clark  prob 
ably  whiled  away  free  hours  when  not  disposed  to 
descend  to  the  town  for  active  amusement. 

For  a  woman  in  Adelle's  position  such  a  working- 
man's  home  has  the  interest  of  the  unfamiliar.  It  is 
always  incomprehensible  to  a  woman  nurtured  to  a 
high  standard  of  comfort  to  realize  a  totally  different 
and  presumably  lower  standard  of  living.  This  may 
be  seen  when  travelers  peer  with  exclamations  of 
surprise  and  pity  or  disgust  into  the  stuffy  homes  of 
European  peasants  or  the  dark  mud-floor  rooms  of 
Asiatics.  The  prejudices  of  race  as  well  as  of  social 
class  seem  to  come  to  the  surface  in  this  concrete  ex 
perience  of  how  another  kind  of  human  being  sleeps, 
eats,  and  amuses  himself.  With  Adelle  this  sensa 
tion  of  strangeness  was  not  very  keen,  because  her 
own  acquaintance  with  the  habits  of  the  rich  was 
less  than  ten  full  years  old.  Clark's  one-room  tar- 
paper  shack  did  not  seem  so  squalid  to  her  as  it 
might  to  Irene  Pointer,  though  Adelle  had  never 
before  had  the  curiosity  to  enter  a  humble  dwelling. 
She  looked  about  her,  indeed,  with  a  certain  appre 
ciation  of  its  coziness  and  adequacy.  All  that  a  single 
man  really  needed  for  decency  and  modest  comfort 
was  to  be  found  here,  at  least  under  the  conditions 
of  the  sunny  California  clime,  which  Providence 
seems  to  have  adapted  for  poverty.  All  the  wealth 
of  Clark's  Field  could  have  added  little  valuable 

334 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

luxury  to  this  tar-paper  shack  on  the  ridge  of  high 
hills  with  a  prospect  of  mountain,  valley,  and  ocean 
before  the  front  door.  Of  course,  with  the  assistance 
of  Clark's  Field,  its  proprietor  would  have  been  sit 
ting  in  the  great  room  of  the  Pacific  Coast  Club,  as 
Archie  was  at  this  moment,  imbibing  foreign  wine 
and  deploring  the  "agitation  among  the  people," 
which  was  making  a  very  bad  stock  market. 

After  having  taken  in  every  item  in  the  single 
room  carefully,  Adelle  went  on  her  way  full  of  thought. 
Her  first  impression  was  that  the  mason  must  be 
a  superior  sort  of  workman  because  he  kept  his  home 
and  his  few  possessions  neatly  and  orderly.  She  did 
not  know  that  there  are  many  naturally  clean  per 
sons  in  the  laboring-classes.  However,  she  made 
no  fetish  of  tubbing  herself  once  a  day,  and  thought 
on  to  more  important  considerations.  Evidently 
the  young  man  was  attached  to  his  beautiful  solitary 
abode  —  he  had  planted  and  watered  a  vine  for  the 
door.  She  resolved  to  tell  him  that  he  could  help 
himself  to  the  fruit  and  flowers  in  Highcourt.  If  he 
cared  to  set  out  a  small  flower  garden,  he  could  get 
seeds  and  slips  from  her  own  formal  garden.  But 
there  was  the  question  of  water:  it  would  not  be 
possible  for  him  to  start  a  garden  on  this  hilltop 
without  water.  She  supposed  that  he  must  lug  what 
water  he  used  from  Highcourt.  Probably  that  was 
the  use  he  put  those  large  tin  cans  to.  ... 

Adelle's  mirid  was  naturally  slow  in  its  operations. 
Ideas  and  impressions  seemed  to  lie  in  it  for  months 

335 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

like  seed  in  a  dry  and  cold  ground  without  any  sign  of 
fruitful  germination.  But  they  were  not  always  dead ! 
Sometimes,  after  days  or  weeks  or  even  months  of 
apparent  extinction,  they  came  to  life  and  bore  fruit, 
-usually  a  meager  fruit.  To-day,  for  an  inexplica 
ble  reason,  she  began  to  think  again  of  the  mason's 
family  name.  He  was  a  Clark  without  the  e,  and 
his  people  came  from  "back  East."  It  might  seem 
strange  that  this  fact  had  not  at  once  roused  a  train 
of  ideas  in  Adelle's  mind  when  she  first  learned  of  it. 
But  the  lost  heir  to  Clark's  Field  had  never  been 
to  her  of  that  vital  importance  he  had  been  to  her 
mother  and  uncle.  It  must  be  remembered  that  her 
aunt  was  the  only  one  of  her  family  who  had  been 
at  all  near  to  her,  and  her  aunt  had  small  faith  in  the 
Clark  tradition  and  was  not  of  a  reminiscent  turn 
of  mind.  Of  course,  the  trust  officers  had  explained 
carefully  to  Adelle's  aunt  in  her  hearing  all  about  the 
difficulties  with  the  title,  and  at  various  times  after 
her  aunt's  death  had  alluded  to  this  matter  in  their 
brief  communications  with  her.  But  they  had  not 
gone  into  the  specific  measures  they  had  taken  to 
look  for  the  lost  heirs  of  old  Edward  Clark,  nor  the 
means  by  which  the  title  at  last  had  been  "quieted," 
to  use  the  expressive  legal  term.  And  finally  all  such 
business  details  passed  through  Adelle's  mind  like  a 
stream  of  water  through  a  pipe,  leaving  little  sedi 
ment.  She  had  not  thought  about  the  Clarks  or 
Clark's  Field  for  some  years.  .  .  . 

To-day  she  began  wondering  whether  by  chance 
336 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

this  young  mason  of  the  name  of  Clark  could  be  re 
lated  to  any  of  her  mother's  people.  She  must  find 
out  more  about  his  family  history.  So  she  prolonged 
her  walk  among  the  hills  until  the  declining  sun  told 
her  that  the  mason  would  have  returned  to  his  home. 
Then  she  came  back  along  the  path  by  the  shack. 
Clark  was  inside,  whistling  loudly,  and  evidently 
preparing  his  evening  meal,  for  a  thin  stream  of 
bluish  smoke  emerged  into  the  still  air  from  the 
mouth  of  the  drain-pipe.  Adelle  called,  — 

"Mr.  Clark!" 

The  mason  came  to  the  open  door.  He  was  bare 
headed  and  barearmed,  clothed  merely  in  khaki 
trousers  and  red  flannel  undershirt,  but  he  was  glis- 
teningly  clean  and  shaved.  In  one  hand  he  carried 
his  frying-pan  into  which  he  had  just  put  some  junks 
of  beef.  He  seemed  surprised  on  seeing  the  lady  of 
Highcourt  at  his  door  and  scowled  slightly  in  the 
sunlight. 

"  I  was  going  by,"  she  explained  without  any  em 
barrassment,  "and  wanted  to  ask  you  about  some 
thing." 

The  mason  removed  his  pipe  from  his  teeth  and 
stood  at  attention. 

"Do  you  know  where  your  family  came  from  be 
fore  they  lived  in  Missouri?  "  she  asked.  "  I  mean  the 
Clarks,  your  grandfather's  people." 

The  mason  looked  surprised  to  find  this  was  the 
important  question  she  had  come  all  the  way  to  his 
shack  to  ask. 

337 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"No,  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Davis." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  any  one  of  them  speak  of 
Alton?" 

He  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"Never  heard  the  name  of  the  place  before  that 
I  know  of." 

"Oh,"  Adelle  observed  in  a  disappointed  tone, 
"I  thought  you  might  know  where  they  came  from 
before  the  Missouri  time." 

The  mason  gave  a  short,  harsh  laugh  and  stuck 
his  pipe  back  between  his  teeth. 

"  I  don't  see  as  it  makes  any  odds  where  they  came 
from,"  he  remarked.  "  I  guess  we  ain't  got  any  fancy 
family  tree  to  boast  of." 

"Well,"  Adelle  observed;  and  then,  recollecting 
her  other  intention,  she  said, — 

"Don't  you  want  some  flowers  or  fruit  or 
stuff  from  the  garden?  You  can't  raise  much  up 
here." 

"  No,  thanks;  I  don't  want  nothin' —  much  obliged 
to  you." 

In  spite  of  the  conventional  terms  there  was  a 
surly  burr  to  his  tone  that  belied  the  courtesy. 
Adelle  was  surprised  at  the  hardness  of  his  mood. 
She  felt  quite  friendly,  almost  intimate  with  him, 
after  all  their  talks,  and  now  he  was  as  gruff  as  he 
had  been  the  first  day.  She  looked  at  his  face  for  an 
explanation.  He  was  scowling  slightly,  and  in  the 
reddish  light  of  the  setting  sun  his  face  seemed  to 
burn  as  with  fever,  and  his  blue  eyes  glinted  dan- 

338 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

gerously.  She  could  not  make  out  what  was  going 
on  in  the  man's  mind.  Probably  he  did  not  himself 
rightly  know.  The  discovery  that  he  bore  the  same 
name  as  his  employer  had  once  might  have  set  off 
some  unpleasant  train  of  subconscious  reflection, 
accentuating  the  bitter  sense  of  class  distinction  and 
the  unreason  of  it,  which  he  was  only  too  prone  to 
entertain.  He  did  not  want  any  "kindness"  from 
rich  people.  He  worked  for  them  because  he  must, 
but  he  worked  in  a  spirit  of  armed  neutrality  at  the 
best,  like  so  many  of  his  kind,  and  he  spat  mentally 
upon  Carnegie  libraries  and  all  other  evidences  of 
the  philanthropic  spirit  in  those  relieved  from  the 
toil  of  day  labor. 

Adelle  could  not  follow  this,  but  she  knew  that  the 
man  was  close  to  an  explosion  point  of  some  sort, 
as  he  had  been  that  other  time  when  she  had  encoun 
tered  him  before  his  shack.  Then  he  had  suddenly 
jumped  up  from  the  doorstep,  the  lust  for  action  in 
his  movement,  and  had  disappeared  for  the  better 
part  of  a  week.  She  felt  that  he  might  be  on  the  verge 
of  another  such  outbreak  and  tried  clumsily  to  pre 
vent  it  if  possible.  She  hesitated,  thinking  what  to 
say,  while  the  mason  glared  at  her  as  if  he  were  con 
trolling  himself  with  an  effort. 

"I  thought  you  might  like  something,"  she  said 
at  last.  "There's  plenty,  and  you  are  welcome  to 
what  you  want." 

"  I  don't  want  nothin' " ;  and  he  added  meaningly, 
—  "least  of  all  flowers  and  fruits." 

339 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"There  are  a  lot  of  magazines  at  the  house  —  you 
might  call  for  them  or  books." 

"I  don't  do  much  reading." 

He  checked  her  every  move.  There  was  nothing 
more  to  say,  and  so  Adelle  turned  slowly  and  went 
on  her  way  to  her  home,  thinking  rather  sadly  that 
the  young  mason  would  surely  go  to  "'Frisco"  to 
night  and  might  never  come  back.  Meanwhile,  the 
mason  had  entered  his  shack  and  closed  the  door,  as 
if  he  wished  to  keep  out  intruders.  He  was  not 
whistling.  .  .  . 

That  evening  Archie  arrived  by  motor  from  the 
city,  bringing  with  him  some  friends,  and  others 
came  up  to  dinner  from  Bellevue,  so  that  they  had  a 
party  of  eight  or  ten.  Dinner  was  late,  and  as  the 
night  was  pleasant  with  starlight  and  a  soft  breeze, 
coffee  was  served  on  the  unfinished  terrace.  As  Adelle 
was  pointing  out  to  one  of  the  guests  the  line  of  pro 
posed  wall,  she  saw  a  man's  figure  coming  down  the 
path  from  the  eucalyptus  grove.  She  watched  it 
draw  near  to  the  terrace,  then  stop.  She  was  sure 
that  it  was  the  mason's  figure.  He  must  be  on  his 
way  to  town  to  take  the  evening  train  for  the  city, 
which  passed  Bellevue  at  nine  forty-five.  She  ut 
terly  forgot  what  she  was  saying,  what  was  being 
said  to  her,  in  her  intense  effort  to  discover  in  the 
darkness  what  the  figure  just  above  the  terrace  was 
doing.  She  could  not  tell  whether  he  had  gone  back 
to  skirt  the  house  and  go  on  by  a  more  roundabout 
way  or  was  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  descend 

340 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

unobserved.  Some  time  afterwards  she  heard  the 
rolling  of  a  stone  on  the  hill-path  and  knew  that  he 
must  have  retraced  his  steps  to  the  grove.  She 
thought  that  there  was  no  path  down  that  way  and 
was  unreasonably  glad  for  —  she  did  not  know  what. 
Archie  had  observed  her  distraction  and  remarked,  — 

"Must  be  one  of  the  workmen  sneaking  about  up 
there.  They  are  all  over  the  place,  thick  as  flies. 
There's  one  has  built  himself  a  shack  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hill  and  worn  a  path  down  here  across  the 
terrace  —  cheeky  rascal.  I  '11  tell  Ferguson  to  smoke 
him  out!" 

Adelle  said  nothing,  but  she  was  sure  that  Fer 
guson  would  never  execute  that  order. 


XXXVIII 

THE  next  morning  Adelle  went  straight  to  the  ter 
race  wall  from  her  room  where  she  had  her  coffee. 
All  she  had  to  do  was  to  step  out  of  the  French  win 
dow  and  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  for  she  had 
not  yet  moved  to  the  rooms  designed  for  her  in  the 
other  wing.  This  morning  she  wished  to  know  surely 
whether  the  mason  had  gone  off  on  his  spree  or  had 
really  turned  back  as  she  thought  he  had  the  night 
before.  And  there  he  was  on  the  job,  sure  enough! 
Upon  her  approach,  he  looked  up  and  rumpled  his 
hat  over  his  head,  which  was  his  shamefaced  method 
of  saluting  a  lady.  He  still  looked  somewhat  stormy, 
but  there  were  no  traces  of  debauch  in  his  eyes,  and 
he  was  tossing  in  his  mortar  with  a  fine  swing,  and 
handling  the  heavy  stones  as  if  they  were  loaves  of 
bread. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Clark,"  was  all  that  Adelle 
said,  and  started  to  go  on. 

But  the  mason  called  out,  — 

"Say!"  and  throwing  down  his  trowel  he  hunted 
for  something  in  his  hip  pocket.  "You  was  asking 
me  about  that  town  in  the  East  —  Alton.  Well,  I 
found  this  after  you  had  gone." 

He  produced  a  tattered  package  of  what  seemed  to 
342 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

be  old  letters,  yellowed  with  age  and  torn  at  the 
corners,  and  handed  them  up  to  Adelle. 

"They  were  grandfather's  and  mother  always  kep' 
'em ;  I  don't  know  why.  When  she  died  one  of  my  sis 
ters  giv'  em  to  me.  I  been  to  tin'  'em  'round  in  my 
trunk  ever  since.  They  're  kind  of  dirty  and  spotted," 
he  apologized  for  their  condition.  "But  they  were 
pretty  old,  I  guess,  when  I  got  'em,  and  they  ain't 
had  much  care  since.  .  .  .  Last  night  after  you  were 
up  there  I  got  'em  out  of  the  trunk  and  tried  to  read 
'em.  There 's  one  there  from  Alton  —  it 's  got  the 
postmark  on  the  outside." 

Clark  pointed  with  his  mortar-coated  thumb  to 
the  faint  circle  of  the  stamp  in  the  corner.  Adelle 
took  the  letter  from  him  with  a  sense  of  faintness 
that  she  could  not  explain.  She  had  been  right  in 
her  conjecture:  that  seemed  to  her  a  very  great 
point. 

"I  was  bringin'  'em  up  to  the  house  last  night," 
the  mason  explained,  "but  seen  you  had  company, 
so  kep'  'em  until  to-day." 

So  he  had  not  thought  of  going  to  San  Francisco 
on  a  spree !  Adelle's  woman  conceit  might  have  been 
sadly  dashed. 

"May  I  read  them?"  she  asked,  looking  curiously 
at  the  package  of  faded  letters. 

"Sure!  Read  'em  over.  That's  what  I  brought 
'em  to  you  for,"  the  mason  said  heartily.  "  I  could  n't 
make  much  out  of  the  old  writing  myself.  I  ain't  no 
scholar,  you  know,  and  the  ink  is  pretty  thin  in 

343 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

spots.  But  I  seed  the  Alton  postmark  and  thought 
you  would  be  interested." 

"I'll  look  them  over,"  Adelle  said  slowly,  "and 
let  you  know  what  I  find  in  them." 

She  carried  the  letters  with  her  back  to  her  rooms, 
but  she  did  not  open  them  at  once.  She  had  no  de 
sire  to  do  so,  now  that  she  had  them.  It  was  not  until 
the  afternoon,  while  she  was  lounging  in  her  room, 
—  Archie  having  gone  to  play  polo  at  the  club,  — 
that  she  finally  took  up  the  stained  packet  of  old 
letters,  and  opened  them.  They  were  addressed  va 
riously  to  "E.S.  Clark,"  or  "Edward  S.  Clark," 
and  one  to  "E.  Stanley  Clark,"  but  that  was  a  later 
one  than  the  others  and  had  to  do  with  some  land 
business  in  California.  The  mason  had  spoken  of  his 
grandfather  as ' '  Stanley  Clark  "  —  "  old  Stan  Clark, ' ' 
he  called  him.  Evidently  the  elder  Clark  had  called 
himself  by  his  middle  name  after  settling  in  Califor 
nia,  but  before  that  he  had  been  known  as  "  Edward  " 
or  "EdwardS.  Clark." 

Almost  at  random  Adelle  opened  a  letter  —  the 
one  that  the  mason  had  pointed  out  to  her  as  having 
the  Alton  postmark.  It  was  written  in  a  scrawly, 
heavy  hand,  which  was  almost  illegibly  faint  and 
yellow  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  fifty  years,  and 
must  have  been  written  by  one  little  accustomed 
to  the  pen,  for  there  was  much  hard  spelling  as  well 
as  irregular  chirography.  Adelle  looked  for  the  sig 
nature.  It  was  in  the  lower  inside  corner,  and  the 
name,  in  the  effort  to  economize  space,  was  almost 

344 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

unreadable.  It  might  be  "Sam."  After  consider 
able  puzzlement,  she  felt  sure  that  it  was  "Sam." 
The  6*  had  an  indubitable  corkscrew  effect,  and  the 
straight  splotches  must  have  been  an  m,  and  there 
was  the  faint  trace  of  the  a.  But  who  was  "Sam"? 

It  was  a  few  moments  before  Adelle  realized  that 
the  "Sam"  at  the  bottom  of  the  old  letter  was  an 
abbreviation  for  her  grandfather's  name.  It  was  old 
Samuel  Clark's  signature.  When  she  had  grasped 
this  fact,  she  turned  back  to  look  at  the  date.  It  was 
1847  —  July  19.  She  looked  at  the  envelope.  It  was 
addressed  to  "  Mr.  Edward  S.  Clark,"  at  "Mr.  Knowl- 
ton's,  8  Dearborn  St.,  Chicago."  At  last  Adelle  got 
to  the  letter  itself  and  spent  much  time  trying  to 
make  out  the  parts  she  could  read.  It  was  all  about 
family  matters  —  the  letter  of  one  brother  to  an 
other.  There  were  references  to  some  family  trouble, 
and  "Sam"  seemed  to  be  defending  himself  from  a 
charge  of  unfair  dealing  with  his  brother,  and  pro 
tested  his  good  faith  many  times.  Adelle  was  not 
greatly  interested  in  the  contents  of  the  letter,  with 
its  reference  to  a  musty  family  row.  She  knew  too 
little  of  the  Clark  history  to  appreciate  the  sig 
nificance  of  Sam's  verbose  self-defense. 

What  she  did  realize  overwhelmingly  was  the  fact 
that  the  young  mason  was  related  to  her  —  was  her 
second  cousin,  the  grandson  of  the  elder  brother 
Clark,  while  she  was  the  granddaughter,  through  her 
mother,  of  the  younger  brother.  And  that  was  all  she 
realized  for  the  present.  It  was  a  large  enough  fact. 

345 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

She  was  not  a  family  less  woman  as  she  had  always 
supposed,  and  this  young  workman  on  her  estate 
was  her  cousin.  He  had  the  same  blood  that  she  had 
in  part,  was  of  the  same  race,  and  as  he  inherited 
through  his  father  from  the  elder  brother,  while  she 
inherited  through  the  mother  from  the  younger 
brother,  he  would  be  considered  in  certain  social 
systems  to  be  her  family  superior !  The  Head  of  the 
Family!  Adelle  had  no  great  class  pride,  as  must 
have  been  perceived,  but  even  to  her  it  was  some 
thing  of  a  shock  to  discover  that  she  was  cousin  to 
the  stone  mason  employed  in  building  her  wall  —  an 
uneducated  young  man  who  chewed  tobacco,  used 
poor  grammar,  and  went  on  sprees,  vulgar  sprees, 
for  Archie  had  taught  her  that  money  makes  a  great 
difference  in  the  way  men  get  drunk.  And  she  remem 
bered  that  Clark  had  said,  in  his  bitter  indictment 
of  the  laboring-man's  lot,  that  one  of  his  sisters  was 
not  all  that  she  should  be!  Naturally  it  gave  her 
much  to  think  about.  Not  the  question  whether  she 
should  tell  him  what  she  had  discovered  from  his 
grandfather's  letters,  but  the  fact  itself  of  her  rela 
tionship  with  the  young  mason.  That  was  stunning 
at  first,  even  to  Adelle ! 

But  as  she  lay  upon  her  pretty  bed,  which  had 
been  painted  for  her  in  Paris  with  a  flock  of  un 
blushing  Amours,  and  stared  at  the  painted  ceiling, 
her  good  sense  rapidly  came  back  to  her.  In  her 
character  it  was  the  substitute  for  humor.  After  all, 
there  was  nothing  so  extraordinary  in  the  fact.  There 

346 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

must  be  many  similar  cases  of  poor  relations  among 
all  the  people  she  knew,  even  with  the  Paysons  and 
the  Carharts,  who  were  the  primates  of  Bellevue 
society.  When  families  had  been  living  for  a  long 
time  on  this  earth,  there  must  grow  up  such  inequali 
ties  of  fortune  between  the  different  branches,  even 
among  the  different  members  of  the  same  genera 
tion.  If  people  were  only  aware  of  all  their  relations, 
there  would  doubtless  be  many  surprises  in  life. 
What  would  Archie  say  to  it?  In  the  first  place,  she 
probably  would  not  tell  him,  and  he  had  no  good 
ground  for  criticism  anyway.  The  Davises  were  not 
highly  distinguished  folk:  no  doubt  Archie  could  find 
in  any  telephone  directory  plenty  of  distant  cousins 
of  humble  station.  As  for  Tom  Clark  himself,  she 
did  not  feel  that  he  would  be  disagreeable  after  he 
had  learned  his  relationship  to  his  employer.  He 
might  whistle  and  laugh  and  get  off  one  of  those 
ironical  and  contemptuous  utterances  about  society 
of  which  he  seemed  fond. 

After  thinking  it  all  over,  Adelle  rose  and  dressed 
herself;  then,  taking  the  package  of  letters,  of  which 
she  had  only  casually  examined  the  others,  went  up 
the  path  to  the  tar-paper  shack.  It  was  a  hot  after 
noon,  and  the  mason  had  only  just  come  back  from 
his  task.  He  had  not  yet  washed,  and  was  sitting 
before  his  door,  all  red  and  sweaty,  smoking  his  pipe 
and  scratching  his  arms  in  a  sensuous  relaxation  of 
muscles  after  the  day's  work.  He  looked  altogether 
the  workman.  He  did  not  rise  at  her  approach,  but 

347 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

removing  his  pipe,  remarked,  as  if  he  had  been  ex 
pecting  her  visit,  — 

"Well,  did  you  read  the  stuff?" 

"Yes,"  Adelle  replied,  holding  out  the  package; 
"I  read  some  of  them." 

"That's  more'n  I  could  do,"  he  said,  receiving 
the  letters  and  staring  at  them  as  if  they  had  been 
Egyptian  hieroglyphs.  "What  could  you  make  out 
of  'em?" 

"One  thing!"  Adelle  exclaimed.  "Your  grand 
father  and  my  grandfather  must  have  been  own 
brothers." 

"You  don't  say ! "  Tom  Clark  exclaimed,  throwing 
back  his  head  and  giving  vent  to  that  robust,  iron 
ical  laugh  that  Adelle  had  expected.  "So  old  Stan 
Clark  was  your  great-uncle?" 

Adelle  nodded. 

"Just  think  of  that  now! "  and  the  mason  went  off 
into  another  peal  of  laughter  which  made  Adelle 
uncomfortable.  He  did  not  take  seriously  his  re 
lationship  with  the  mistress  of  Highcourt.  "I  bet 
old  grandfather  Stan  would  have  been  mighty  sur 
prised  if  he  could  see  his  niece  and  her  swell  house! " 

Suddenly  the  mason  rose,  and,  fetching  out  a  box 
from  his  house,  said  with  an  elaborate  flourish  of 
ironical  courtesy,  — 

"Sit  down,  cousin,  and  we'll  talk  it  over." 

Adelle  accepted  the  seat  meekly. 

"So  father's  folks  did  n't  really  come  from  Mis 
souri  —  but  from  way  back  East?  "  he  inquired  with 

348 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

appreciation  of  the  added  aristocracy  that  this  gave 
the  family. 

"Surely  they  came  from  Alton/'  Adelle  replied. 
"That  was  where  the  Clarks  had  always  lived  — 
ever  since  before  the  Revolution." 

"As  long  as  that!  Think  of  it  —  I '11  be  damned 
—  beggin'  your  pardon,  cousin!"  the  mason  ex 
claimed. 

Except  for  this  familiar  use  of  the  term  of  rela 
tionship  Tom  Clark's  attitude  was  respectful  enough, 
more  humorous  than  anything  else,  as  if  the  news 
Adelle  had  given  him  merely  completed  his  ironic 
philosophy  of  life.  He  mused,  — 

"So  I  had  to  get  into  a  fight  in  '  Frisco  and  come 
here  to  work  on  this  job  to  find  out  my  family  con 
nections." 

He  seemed  impressed  with  the  devious  paths  of 
Providence. 

"And  I  had  to  go  all  the  way  from  Alton  to  Paris 
to  find  a  Calif ornian  husband,  who  brought  me  out 
here!"  laughed  Adelle,  who  was  beginning  to  com 
prehend  the  mason's  humor  and  the  situation. 

Neither  thought  of  any  money  concern  in  the  new 
found  relationship.  They  were  still  sitting  before  the 
shack  on  boxes  in  the  red  light  of  the  descending  sun 
and  Clark  was  explaining  to  "cousin"  his  theory  of 
the  unimportance  of  family  ties,  when  Archie  came 
up  the  path.  Adelle  perceived  him  first,  and  hastily 
getting  up  went  to  meet  him.  She  did  not  want  him 
to  hear  the  news,  at  least  not  until  she  had  had  time 

349 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  manage  his  susceptibilities,  for  she  knew  that  his 
first  reaction  would  be  to  get  rid  of  her  "cousin"  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  he  would  nag  her  until  the 
mason  had  been  discharged.  Archie,  who  had  been 
drinking  enough  since  his  game  to  give  free  rein 
to  his  poor  temper,  immediately  began  the  attack 
within  hearing  of  the  stone  mason. 

' '  So  this  is  where  you  are !  I ' ve  been  looking  for 
you  all  over  the  place.  Thought  you  were  too  tired 
to  go  to  the  polo,"  he  said  accusingly. 

"I  only  just  came  up  the  hill  for  a  little  walk," 
Adelle  explained. 

"I  Ve  been  back  an  hour  myself,  and  they  said 
you'd  gone  out  before,"  her  husband  retorted  sus 
piciously. 

"Perhaps  it  was  earlier,"  Adelle  replied  indif 
ferently. 

She  cared  less  than  she  had  once  for  Archie's  out 
bursts  of  temper,  and  at  present  her  mind  was  occu 
pied  with  other  matters  than  calming  him.  Archie 
looked  at  her  with  a  peculiar  stare  in  which  ugliness 
and  something  more  evil  were  mixed. 

"Been  having  such  an  interesting  conversation 
that  you  did  n't  know  how  fast  time  was  going?  "  he 
sneered. 

"Yes,"  Adelle  replied  literally. 

"Talkin'  with  that  fellow?"  Archie  demanded, 
hitching  a  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  stone 
mason,  who  was  still  sitting  not  far  off  watching  the 
couple. 

350 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Yes,  I  had  something  important  to  say  to  him,** 
Adelle  replied,  and  started  away. 

But  Archie  did  not  stir. 

"  I  have  something  important  to  say  to  him,  too," 
he  growled,  walking  towards  the  mason. 

"  Archie!  "Adelle  called. 

But  Archie  paid  no  attention.  He  strode  furiously 
up  to  the  shack,  and  even  before  he  reached  it  he 
called  out,  — 

"Here,  you  there!  What  business  have  you  got 
building  your  dirty  little  roost  on  my  land  with 
out  permission?" 

The  mason  merely  smiled  at  the  angry  man  in 
reply.  Adelle,  who  had  run  up  to  her  husband,  tried 
to  pull  him  back,  with  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  It  isn't  our  land,"  she  said  disgustedly.  Her  fool 
ish  husband  did  not  even  know  the  boundaries  of 
their  own  property,  which  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the 
eucalyptus  grove  on  the  top  of  the  hill. 

"Well,  I  won't  have  him  tracking  up  the  place 
with  his  paths, ' '  Archie  said  weakly.  ' '  He  was  prowl 
ing  around  the  house  last  night.  I  saw  him." 

The  mason  again  smiled  at  him,  as  if  he  scorned 
to  answer  back  a  man  who  was  so  evidently  "in 
his  booze,  "  as  he  would  put  it,  and  trying  to  pick  a 
quarrel. 

"Anyway  you  are  discharged,"  he  said,  in  a 
lordly  attempt  to  get  back  his  dignity.  "See  Mr. 
Ferguson  in  the  morning  and  get  your  money  and 
-get  out!" 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"I  will  not,"  the  mason  replied  imperturbably. 

"What  do  you  say?" 

Clark  grinned  at  Adelle  and  replied  with  an  in 
tentional  drawl,  — 

"I  been  discharged  once  on  this  job  and  taken 
back,  and  this  time  I  mean  to  stick  until  the  job 's 
done." 

"No,  you  won't!"  Archie  shouted. 

"Oh,  so  I  won't?  .  .  .  Well,  I  ain't  taking  my 
orders  from  you.  She's  the  boss  on  the  ranch,  I 
guess." 

He  indicated  Adelle  with  a  nod.  This  came  alto 
gether  too  near  the  truth  to  be  pleasant  for  Archie. 

"You  damned—" 

With  his  heavy  polo  whip  raised  he  sprang  at  the 
mason.  Adelle  dragged  at  his  arm,  and  he  turned  to 
shake  her  off,  raising  his  free  hand  threateningly. 

"Take  care!"  the  mason  called  out.  "Don't  hit 
a  woman!" 

As  if  in  defiance,  as  if  to  show  that  he  could  hit 
at  least  this  woman  who  belonged  to  him  by  law, 
even  though  her  possessions  might  not  belong  to 
him  entirely,  Archie's  left  hand  came  down  upon 
Adelle's  arm  with  sufficient  force  to  be  called  a  blow. 
Adelle  dropped  her  grip  of  her  husband's  arm  with 
a  slight  cry  of  fright  and  shame  rather  than  of  pain. 
Archie  did  not  have  to  step  forward  to  get  at  the 
mason,  for  with  one  bound  Clark  sprang  from  his 
seat  on  the  box  and  dealt  Archie  such  a  smashing 
blow  in  the  middle  of  the  face  that  he  fell  crumpled 

352 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

in  a  heap  on  the  ground  between  Adelle  and  the 
mason.  He  lay  there  gasping  and  groaning  for  a  few 
moments  —  long  enough  for  Adelle  to  realize  com 
pletely  how  she  loathed  him.  Before  this  she  had 
known  that  she  was  not  happy  in  her  marriage,  that 
Archie  was  far  from  the  lover  she  had  dreamed  of, 
that  he  was  lacking  in  certain  common  virtues  very 
necessary  in  any  society.  Indeed,  he  had  treated  her 
roughly  before  now,  in  accesses  of  alcoholic  irrita 
tion,  but  always  there  had  been  in  her  mind  a  linger 
ing  affection  for  the  boy  she  had  once  loved  and 
spoiled  —  enough  to  make  her  pardon  and  forget. 
But  now  she  saw  him  beneath  the  skin  with  the 
deadly  clearness  of  vision  that  precludes  all  for 
giveness. 

At  last  Archie  crawled  giddily  to  his  feet,  his  nose 
running  with  blood  which  spattered  over  his  rumpled 
silk  shirt.  He  looked  at  his  opponent  uncertainly, 
as  if  he  would  like  to  try  conclusions  again,  but  a 
glance  at  the  mason's  large  hard  hands  and  stocky 
frame  was  enough.  Turning,  he  said,  —  "  I  '11  fix  you 
for  this,"  and  started  for  Highcourt. 

"Oh,  go  to  hell!"  the  mason  called  after  him,  re 
suming  his  seat  on  the  soap-box  and  relighting  his 
pipe. 

Adelle,  before  she  followed  her  husband,  said  to 
her  new-found  cousin  in  a  tone  clear  enough  to  reach 
Archie's  ears,  — 

"Of  course  you  are  not  discharged.  I  am  very 
sorry  for  this." 

353 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"That's  all  right,"  the  mason  replied.  "I  don't 
worry  about  him." 

Archie  kept  on  as  if  he  had  not  heard,  and  Adelle 
followed  back  to  Highcourt  at  sufficient  distance  not 
to  be  forced  to  speak  to  him.  They  did  not  meet  or 
speak  that  night,  which  had  happened  before  more 
than  once.  Adelle  lay  awake  far  into  the  night, 
thinking  many  surprisingly  new  thoughts  —  about 
the  cousin  in  his  shack,  the  way  in  which  he  had 
taken  her  news  of  their  relationship,  and  also  the 
calm  manner  in  which  he  had  stood  her  husband's 
outrageous  behavior.  She  as  nearly  admired  the 
cold  humor  with  which  he  received  her  husband's 
abuse  until  Archie  had  struck  her  as  she  did  anything 
she  knew  in  the  way  of  conduct.  The  mason  cousin 
might  use  bad  grammar  and  chew  tobacco  and  go  on 
sprees  occasionally,  but  as  between  him  and  her  hus 
band  he  was  the  gentleman  of  the  two  —  better  still, 
the  man  of  the  two.  His  patience  under  insult  and 
his  treating  Archie  like  a  child  when  he  saw  that  the 
"gentleman"  had  been  drinking  were  truly  admir 
able! 

As  for  Archie  it  was  not  a  new  experience  for  her 
latterly  to  lie  awake  cogitating  her  marriage  in  un 
happy  sleeplessness.  It  had  seemed  to  her  on  such 
occasions  that  all  the  old  banker's  predictions  about 
the  results  of  her  marrying  Archie  had  come  true 
like  a  curse,  and  sooner  than  might  have  been 
thought.  But  never  before  had  she  seen  so  clearly 
how  impossible  Archie  was,  never  before  felt  herself 

354 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

without  one  atom  of  regard  for  him  —  not  even  de 
sire.  And  yet  her  mind  was  too  little  fertile  in  ex 
pedients  to  suggest  to  her  any  way  out  of  her  trouble. 
She  was  of  those  many  women  who  will  not  take  a 
step  even  against  the  most  brutal  of  husbands  until 
driven  into  it.  So  she  quickly  dismissed  him  from 
her  thoughts. 

It  was  then  that  for  the  first  time,  in  connection 
with  her  new  cousin,  she  thought  of  the  money  — 
the  buried  treasure  of  Clark's  Field,  which  had  been 
discovered  for  her  benefit  and  which  had  been  of  such 
poor  use  to  her  apparently.  Archie,  she  had  said  to 
herself,  was  less  of  a  man  than  this  rough  stone 
mason,  Tom  Clark.  He  was,  after  all,  nothing  more 
than  a  very  ordinary  American  citizen,  with  the 
prestige  and  power  of  her  wealth.  If  that  other  man 
had  happened  to  have  the  money  —  and  it  was  here 
that  light  broke  over  her.  It  did  belong  to  him,  at 
least  a  large  part  of  it!  She  recalled  now  the  sub 
stance  of  those  legal  lectures  she  had  received  at  dif 
ferent  times  from  the  officers  of  the  trust  company. 
The  trouble  about  Clark's  Field  all  these  years 
had  been  the  disappearance  of  an  heir,  the  elder 
brother  of  her  grandfather,  and  the  lack  of  absolute 
proof  that  he  had  left  no  heirs  behind  him  when  he 
died,  to  claim  his  undivided  half  interest  in  the  field. 
But  he  had  left  heirs,  a  whole  family  of  them,  it 
seemed!  And  to  them,  of  course,  belonged  at  least 
a  half  of  the  property  quite  as  much  as  it  did  to  her! 

When  she  had  arrived  at  this  illumination  she  was 
355 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

in  a  great  state  of  excitement.  She  almost  waked 
Archie  from  his  alcoholic  slumbers  in  the  neighbor 
ing  room  to  tell  him  that  he  was  not  married  to  a 
rich  woman  —  at  least  to  one  as  rich  as  he  thought 
by  a  half.  And  the  workman  whom  he  had  insulted 
and  discharged  in  his  fury  was  really  his  superior, 
in  money  as  well  as  character,  and  might  perhaps 
drive  him  out  of  Highcourt,  instead!  But  she 
decided  to  put  off  this  ironical  blow  until  a  more 
opportune  time,  when  Archie  was  nagging  her  for 
money.  He  could  be  too  disagreeable  in  his  present 
state. 

Then  she  thought  of  breaking  the  astounding  news 
to  the  stone  mason  himself.  She  must  do  that  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning.  But  presently  doubts 
began  to  rise  in  her  mind.  Of  course,  knowing 
nothing  of  law,  she  resolved  the  problem  by  the  very 
simple  rules  of  thumb  she  was  capable  of.  These 
California  Clarks,  of  whom  the  mason  was  one,  un 
doubtedly  owned  a  half  of  Clark's  Field,  —  in  other 
words,  of  her  estate,  —  for  Clark's  Field  had  been 
sold  for  the  most  part  and  no  longer  belonged  to  her. 
If  so  there  would  be  only  one  half  left  for  her  and 
her  child,  and  she  had  good  reason  to  fear  that  her 
half  had  considerably  shrunken  by  now,  thanks  to 
Archie's  investments  and  their  way  of  living,  if  it 
had  not  wholly  disappeared !  What  then?  She  would 
be  poor,  as  poor  as  Tom  Clark  was  now.  And  it 
would  all  go  to  him  —  the  thought  made  her  smile. 
But  no,  he  had  brothers  and  sisters,  probably 

356 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

uncles  and  aunts  and  cousins.  He  would  have  to 
share  his  half  with  them.  And  one  of  his  sisters  was 
the  sort  of  woman  she  had  been  taught  to  despise 
and  abhor.  It  was  all  a  horrible  tangle,  which  she 
felt  herself  incapable  to  see  through  at  once.  She 
was  not  sure  that  she  could  tell  Archie  or  even 
her  new  cousin,  anyway  not  until  she  had  thought 
it  out  more  clearly  and  knew  the  case  in  all  its 
bearings. 

The  truth  was,  perhaps,  that  Adelle's  natural  fund 
of  egotism,  which  was  not  small,  had  begun  to  work 
as  soon  as  she  realized  that  she  might  lose  her  magic 
lamp  altogether.  It  may  be  doubted  that,  if  certain 
events  had  not  happened,  Adelle  ever  would  have 
risen  to  the  point  where  she  could  have  told  any  one 
the  truth  as  she  was  now  convinced  she  knew  it. 
For  the  present  she  would  put  it  off,  —  a  few  days. 
It  was  so  much  easier  to  say  nothing  at  all:  the 
mason  did  not  seem  to  suspect  the  truth.  She 
could  let  things  go  on  as  fate  had  shaped  them  thus 
far. 

And  there  was  her  little  boy,  too,  who  was  very 
precious  to  her.  She  would  be  disinheriting  him, 
which  she  had  no  right  to  do.  It  was  all  horribly 
mixed  up !  Adelle  did  not  get  much  sleep  that  night. 


XXXIX 

ALTHOUGH  she  had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  tell  her 
secret  to  any  one  at  present,  Adelle  could  not  refrain 
from  looking  up  the  stone  mason  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning.  She  seemed  to  be  attracted  to  him  as 
the  moth  is  to  the  proverbial  flame,  all  the  more 
after  her  new  understanding  of  the  situation  be 
tween  them.  And  she  was  also  apprehensive  of  what 
Archie  might  be  up  to.  If  he  were  violent,  and  the 
two  men  had  another  quarrel,  she  might  be  forced 
to  declare  the  truth,  which  she  did  n't  want  to  do 
this  morning. 

Therefore,  she  felt  relieved  to  find  that  Tom  Clark 
was  not  at  his  post  on  the  wall.  She  asked  no  ques 
tions  of  Mr.  Ferguson.  And  morning  after  morning 
she  was  both  disappointed  and  relieved  when  she 
went  to  the  wall  and  found  his  place  still  empty. 
The  foreman  had  not  put  other  masons  to  work 
there,  but  continued  the  work  at  a  different  point. 
She  asked  him  no  questions.  Perhaps  her  cousin  had 
left  voluntarily  in  disgust  with  Highcourt.  She  even 
went  up  the  hill  one  morning  and  found  his  little 
shack  closed.  Peeking  through  the  windows  she  per 
ceived  his  trunk  and  kitty-bag  in  their  place,  with 
his  old  shoes  and  clothes  beside  them.  So  he  in 
tended  to  come  back!  Again  she  was  both  pleased 

358 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  frightened.  The  return  would  mean  complica 
tions.  She  must  make  up  her  mind  definitely  whether 
she  should  tell  him  the  secret.  She  felt  a  strong  im 
pulse  to  do  so  and  take  the  consequences.  And  there 
was  Archie,  with  whom  she  had  not  exchanged  a 
dozen  words  since  the  scene  on  the  hill.  It  was  quite 
the  longest  quarrel  that  they  had  ever  had  and  wear 
ing  to  them  both.  So  it  went  for  nearly  a  week. 

And  then  one  morning,  as  she  was  passing  heed 
lessly  along  the  terrace,  she  heard  a  man's  voice  which 
was  familiar,  and  peering  over  the  great  wall,  saw 
Tom  Clark  below  at  his  accustomed  post.  He  caught 
sight  of  the  mistress  of  Highcourt,  and  bobbed  his 
head  shamefacedly.  After  a  time  she  came  to  him 
through  the  canon,  but  he  pretended  not  to  see  her. 
She  knew  that  he  was  ashamed  of  himself  for  some 
thing  he  had  done  —  she  wondered  what  —  prob 
ably  drinking.  He  looked  a  trifle  paler  than  usual 
and  very  red-eyed.  He  acted  like  a  puppy  that  knows 
perfectly  well  it  has  been  up  to  mischief  and  deserves 
a  licking,  wishes,  indeed,  that  its  master  would  go 
to  it  and  get  it  over  soon  so  that  they  could  come 
back  to  the  old  normal  friendship.  Adelle  herself 
felt  cold  with  excitement  of  all  sorts,  and  could  hardly 
control  her  voice  enough  to  say  unconcernedly,  — 

"Have  n't  seen  you,  Mr.  Clark,  for  some  time." 

"No!"  (Head  down.)  "Just  thought  I'd  take  a 
little  vacation  —  and  rest  up." 

"Did  you  go  up  to  San  Francisco?" 

"Yep!" 

359 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Did  you  see  another  opera?'* 

" There  weren't  no  opera  this  trip,"  the  mason 
replied,  spitting  out  his  quid.  "I  —  seed  —  other 
things." 

"Is  that  so  — what?" 

The  mason  did  not  reply,  but  there  was  a  reckless 
gleam  in  his  blue  eyes.  He  worked  vigorously,  then 
volunteered  evasively,  - 

"I  was  just  celebratin'  around." 

"Celebrating  what?" 

"Things  in  general  —  what  you  was  tellin'  me 
about  our  bein'  cousins,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  his 
usual  humor. 

"Oh!"  Adelle  replied,  discomposed.  He  had  been 
thinking  about  it,  then. 

"Thought  it  deserved  some  celebratin',"  Clark 
added. 

Adelle's  heart  beat  a  little  faster.  If  he  only  knew 
the  whole  truth !  —  then  there  would  be  something 
to  celebrate,  indeed ! 

"The  strike's  off,"  the  mason  remarked  soon,  as 
if  he  were  anxious  to  get  away  from  his  own  mis 
deeds. 

"Is  it?" 

"Yep!  They  made  a  compromise  —  that's  what 
they  call  it  when  the  fellers  on  top  get  together  and 
deal  it  out  so  the  men  lose." 

"I  suppose,  then,  you  will  be  going  back  to  the 
city  when  you  finish  the  work  here?"  Adelle  asked. 

"Maybe — I  dunno  —  got  some  money  comin' 
360 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  me"  —  Adelle's  guilty  heart  stood  quite  still. 
"I  ain't  drawed  a  cent  on  this  job  so  far,"  he  added 
to  her  relief.  "  Perhaps  I  '11  blow  in  what 's  coming  to 
me  in  goin'  East  to  see  where  my  folks  used  to  live 
in  Alton." 

He  spoke  half  in  jest,  but  Adelle  replied  faintly,  — 

"That  might  be  a  good  idea." 

"  I  heard  from  one  of  my  sisters  while  I  was  gone. 
She 's  in  Philadelphy  —  married  to  a  feller  there 
that  works  in  the  carpet  mills.  I  ain't  seen  her  for 
more  'n  ten  years  —  might  stop  in  Philadelphy, 
too." 

Adelle  was  curious  to  know  whether  this  was  the 
sister  who  "had  gone  wrong,"  but  did  not  know  how 
to  phrase  the  question.  After  a  time,  she  felt  the 
temptation  to  tell  the  mason  what  she  knew  becom 
ing  intolerable.  Her  mind  hovered  about  her  secret 
as  a  bird  hovers  over  a  great  void ;  she  was  irresist 
ibly  drawn  to  the  fatal  plunge.  She  moved  off  while 
she  yet  felt  the  power  to  do  so  without  speaking. 
Her  cousin  looked  up  in  some  surprise. 

"You  goin'?  "he  asked. 

"Let  me  know  before  you  start  East,"  she  called 
back  to  him.  "Perhaps  I  could  do  something  to 
help  you  on  your  trip." 

"Sure  I'll  let  you  know,  "came  up  heartily  from 
the  bottom  of  the  wall  where  the  mason  had  gone 
for  a  tool. 

If  Archie  realized  Tom  Clark's  return  to  High- 
361 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

court,  he  was  wise  enough  to  make  nothing  of  it.  He 
was  in  a  poor  way  nervously  at  this  time,  playing  bad 
polo  and  drinking  altogether  too  much.  He  stayed 
away  from  the  city,  which  was  a  nuisance  to  Adelle, 
but  he  spent  most  of  his  time  at  the  country  club. 
Adelle  meanwhile  was  wrestling  with  herself;  with 
what  people  have  the  habit  of  calling  the  "con 
science,"  but  what  had  better  be  called  the  "con 
sciousness,"  endeavoring  to  realize  more  fully  the 
position  in  which  she  found  herself.  The  idea  within, 
like  most  ideas  hotly  nursed  in  a  troubled  brain,  was 
growing  all  the  time,  until  it  filled  all  her  waking  mo 
ments  and  most  of  her  dreams.  She  had  to  will  delib 
erately  not  to  take  the  little  path  up  the  hill  to  the 
mason's  shack.  Once  she  yielded,  and  when  she  ar 
rived  breathless,  her  heart  thumping,  she  found  the 
door  safely  padlocked.  The  mason  had  gone  to  the 
town  for  supplies.  She  sneaked  back  to  Highcourt  by 
a  roundabout  course  through  the  eucalyptus  wood,  to 
avoid  meeting  her  cousin  on  the  path.  Thus  day  by 
day  she  lived  in  an  agony  of  preoccupation,  so  that 
even  Archie  began  to  notice  how  thin  and  pale  she 
was,  and  attributed  her  distress  to  all  sorts  of  rea 
sons  except  the  right  one,  of  which  he  knew  nothing. 
Her  friends  said  that  she  was  "trying  to  do  too 
much,"  needed  distraction,  and  recommended  a  trip 
somewhere,  though  what  she  did,  except  to  dine  and 
lunch  out  a  few  times  each  week  or  trail  about  the 
unfinished  estate  and  play  with  her  child,  would  be 
hard  to  say.  Adelle,  in  truth,  was  thinking,  thinking 

362 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

harder  than  ever  before  in  her  life.  Her  new  secret 
was  the  most  stimulating  influence,  next  to  her 
child,  that  she  had  known  in  all  her  life.  Her  brain 
once  started  led  her  into  all  sorts  of  mad  by-paths, 
ramifications  of  perception  that  she  and  the  reader, 
too,  might  not  suspect  lay  within  her  powers.  She 
asked  herself  what  the  mason,  with  his  ideas  about 
the  injustice  of  property,  would  do  with  her  money? 
She  began  even  to  question  the  meaning  of  life!  Its 
queer  treatment  of  her,  in  jerking  her  up  to  a  high 
plane  of  privilege  and  then  throwing  her  down  in 
this  unexpected  manner,  appeared  for  the  first  time 
inexplicable. 

But  greatest  of  all  triumphs  from  this  thinking 
was  that  Adelle  began  to  look  upon  life  objectively, 
trying  to  see  what  it  must  mean  to  others  —  to  her 
new  cousin,  who  evidently  had  had  his  own  ambi 
tions,  which  had  been  thwarted  by  a  fate  that  he 
could  not  surmount  alone.  Would  he  do  better  with 
the  money  than  she  had?  Achieve  happiness  more 
lastingly?  She  began  to  doubt  the  power  of  money  to 
give  happiness.  She  was  losing  faith  in  magic  lamps. 
Of  course,  if  Adelle  had  profited  by  her  Puritan  an 
cestry,  she  would  have  known  that  all  this  kind  of 
reasoning  was  useless ;  for  she  had  no  business  to  as 
sume  the  part  of  Providence  to  the  stone  mason  and 
deprive  him  of  his  own  choice  in  the  matter  of  the 
inheritance.  But  fortunately  she  was  not  given  to 
the  picking  of  moral  bones.  She  said  to  herself  posi 
tively  that  Tom  Clark,  whatever  he  might  once  have 

363 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

become  under  other  conditions,  would  not  know  now 
what  to  do  with  money:  he  would  merely  "get  into 
trouble  with  it,"  as  Archie  had  got  into  trouble.  Al 
ready  he  had  the  habit  of  going  off  on  "vacations" 
like  the  past  week,  for  which  he  seemed  ashamed. 
And  there  were  other  lives  than  his  to  be  considered 
—  hers  and  Archie's,  though  she  did  not  give  much 
thought  to  them.  But  there  was  her  boy's  future.  He 
had  been  Adelle's  other  great  education.  She  had 
studied  him  from  the  hour  he  was  born  and  noted 
each  tiny,  trivial  development  of  his  character.  Al 
ready  she  knew  that  he  was  gay  and  pleasure-loving 
by  nature  —  had  a  curling,  sensuous  lip  much  like 
his  father's.  She  felt  that  he  would  need  a  great  deal 
of  guidance  and  care  if  he  were  to  arrive  safely  at 
man's  estate.  Of  course,  it  was  often  said  that  the 
struggle  of  poverty  was  the  way  of  salvation.  But 
she  was  not  convinced  of  this  heroic  creed.  All  the 
more  if  the  little  fellow  should  really  develop  weak 
ness  ;  for  wealth  covered  up  and  prevented  the  more 
dreadful  aspects  of  incompetence.  No,  she  could 
never  bring  herself  to  deprive  her  boy  of  his  inheri 
tance.  She  thought  that  this  was  the  deciding  con 
sideration  in  her  resolve  finally  to  keep  her  secret  to 
herself.  It  was  a  large  reason,  no  doubt.  But  the 
decision  came  rather  from  her  old  habit  of  letting 
fate  work  with  her  as  it  would ;  that  passive  accept 
ance  of  whatever  happened  which  had  always  been 
her  characteristic  attitude  towards  life.  She  had  an 
almost  superstitious  shrinking  from  interfering  with 

364 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

this  outside  arrangement  of  destiny.  For  where  she 
had  interfered  —  as  in  getting  Archie  —  she  had 
brought  disaster  upon  herself.  It  was  always  the 
safer  and  wiser  part  for  a  woman  to  do  nothing  until 
she  was  compelled  to  act.  This  conviction  of  Adelle's 
may  seem  to  our  modernly  strenuous  natures  to 
evince  the  last  degree  of  cowardice  and  pusillanim 
ity  before  life.  We  like  to  believe  that  we  are  chang 
ing  our  destiny  every  day  and  "making  character" 
through  a  multitude  of  petty  decisions.  As  a  matter 
of  cold  examination,  it  would  probably  be  found  that 
few  of  us,  through  all  our  momentous  and  character- 
forming  decisions,  affect  the  stream  of  life  as  much  as 
we  like  to  think,  or  mould  character.  The  differ 
ence  between  Adelle  and  the  strenuous  type  of  con 
stantly  willing  woman  lies  more  in  the  consciousness 
of  fuss  and  effort  that  the  latter  has.  When  it  came 
to  the  necessary  point  Adelle,  as  we  have  seen,  made 
her  own  decisions  and  abided  by  them,  which  is 
more  than  the  strenuous  always  do. 

At  one  time,  in  the  course  of  the  long  debate  with 
herself,  Adelle  felt  that  she  must  appeal  to  some  one 
for  advice.  In  such  stress  and  perplexity  a  woman 
usually  appeals  to  priest  or  doctor,  or  both.  But 
Adelle  was  entirely  without  any  religious  connection, 
and  she  had  no  doctor  in  whom  she  trusted.  Instead, 
she  thought  of  the  Washington  Trust  Company, 
which  had  been  the  nearest  thing  to  parental  au 
thority  she  had  ever  known,  but  rejected  the  idea 
of  presenting  to  them  this  delicate  problem.  The 

365 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

thing,  she  saw,  was  beyond  their  scope  and  jurisdic 
tion.  The  only  person  she  instinctively  turned  to 
wards  for  advice  was  the  old  probate  judge,  who  had 
given  her  such  a  lecture  on  Clark's  Field  for  a  bene 
diction  when  she  last  appeared  before  him.  She  felt 
that  he  would  understand,  and  that  he  would  have 
the  right  idea  of  what  ought  to  be  done.  .  .  . 

Possibly,  as  the  days  passed  and  her  mind  grew 
still  more  towards  comprehension,  she  would  have 
consulted  Judge  Orcutt,  although  she  hated  to  write 
letters.  She  might  even  have  crossed  the  continent 
to  talk  with  the  judge.  But  again  Fate  took  the  mat 
ter  out  of  her  hands  and  resolved  it  in  other  ways. 


XL 


THAT  Saturday  night  there  was  a  large  dinner-party 
at  Highcourt  in  celebration  of  some  polo  match, 
where  the  local  team  was  gloriously  vanquished. 
Archie  was  eager  to  gather  people  around  him,  all  the 
more  as  his  drinking  and  his  mistakes  in  "invest 
ments"  had  lowered  his  prestige  in  the  "colony." 
Why  had  they  gone  to  the  expense  and  the  bother 
of  this  big  establishment,  he  argued,  if  they  were 
not  to  entertain,  and  entertain  in  a  large  and  lavish 
fashion?  This  was  the  first  of  a  series  of  dinners  he 
had  planned  to  give.  If  the  invitations  had  not  been 
sent  long  before,  Adelle  would  never  have  had  the 
party,  for  with  the  strained  relations  between  her 
self  and  her  husband,  social  life  was  more  difficult 
than  ever  to  her.  Adelle  was  never  a  brilliant  hostess. 
She  talked  little  and  with  effort,  and  people  herded 
together  in  large  numbers  rendered  her  quite  dumb. 
This  evening  she  was  more  distrait  than  ever,  for  her 
mind  clung  tenaciously  to  its  one  theme  as  was  the 
habit  of  her  mind.  It  would  stick  to  an  idea  until 
some  solution  presented  itself.  No  mere  distraction 
could  shunt  it  off  its  course,  as  with  Archie,  who 
drank  and  gambled  and  played  polo  and  shouted 
and  laughed  in  order  not  to  think  of  the  many  dis 
agreeable  things  there  were  to  think  about  when  he 
allowed  himself  to  lapse  into  a  sober  mood. 

367 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Even  Major  Pound,  who  sat  at  his  hostess's  right, 
noticed  after  a  time  Adelle's  preoccupation,  although 
he  could  be  trusted  to  monologize  egotistically  by 
the  half-hour.  He  had  started  zestfully  on  the  build 
ing  trades  in  San  Francisco.  The  settlement  of  the 
long  strike  did  not  seem  to  please  him  any  more  than 
it  had  Tom  Clark.  He  thought  that  the  ''tyranny  of 
labor"  was  altogether  unsupportable,  that  this  coun 
try  was  fast  sinking  into  the  horrors  of  "socialism," 
and  capital  was  already  winging  its  way  in  fear  to 
other  safer  refuges.  Adelle  had  heard  all  this  many 
times  not  only  from  Major  Pound  and  Nelson  Car- 
hart,  but  from  George  Pointer  and  the  other  men  she 
saw.  It  was  the  only  kind  of  "serious "  conversation 
they  ever  indulged  in.  To-night,  although  she  heard 
the  familiar  prophecies  of  ruin  faintly,  through  the 
haze  of  her  own  problem,  she  had  a  distinct  percep 
tion  of  the  stupidity  of  it.  What  right  had  any  man 
to  talk  in  this  bitter,  doleful  tone  of  his  country  and 
the  life  of  the  day?  How  could  any  man  tell  what  the 
times  were  going  to  bring  forth?  Perhaps  her  an 
archistic  cousin  —  the  stone  mason  who  had  con 
sidered  these  matters  as  he  plied  his  trade  under 
blistering  heat  or  chilling  winds  —  had  arrived  at 
as  sane  conclusions  as  this  sleek,  well-dressed,  well- 
fed  railroad  man  by  her  side.  She  recognized  that 
life  was  mostly  a  bitter  fight,  and  her  sympathies 
were  strangely  not  with  her  own  class  as  represented 
by  this  gathering. 

All  day  long  a  high  north  wind  had  been  blowing, 

368 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

one  of  those  shrill  winds  from  the  snow-capped 
Sierras  that  bring  drought  to  California  and  rasp 
the  nerves  like  a  steel  whip.  The  wind  had  not  gone 
down  at  sunset,  as  it  often  did,  and  even  while  they 
dined  with  a  roaring  wood  fire  in  the  great  chimney- 
place,  the  noise  of  the  wind  could  be  heard  as  it 
streamed  through  the  canon,  lashing  the  tall  trees 
above  the  house.  Adelle,  listening  to  the  uproar  out 
side,  wondered  whether  the  tar-paper  shack  on  the 
hillside,  which  must  be  directly  in  the  path  of  the 
gale,  had  been  able  to  withstand  it.  She  thought  of 
the  mason  sitting  in  his  flimsy  beaten  room  listening 
to  the  mouthings  of  the  tempest,  alone.  He  was  not 
complaining,  she  felt.  The  tempest  and  the  strife 
of  life  merely  roused  the  ironic  demon  within  him  — 
to  laugh  sardonically,  to  laugh  but  fight  on.  .  .  . 

"As  I  was  saying,"  the  major  iterated  to  fix  her 
wandering  mind,  and  she  stared  at  him.  What  dif 
ference  did  it  make  what  he  was  saying !  The  polite 
major  shifted  his  conversation  from  politics  to  art, 
with  the  urbanity  of  the  good  diner-out.  Had  she 
seen  the  work  of  the  "futurists"  when  she  was  last 
in  Paris.  Really  it  was  beyond  belief!  Another  sign 
of  the  general  degeneracy  of  the  age  —  revolt  from 
discipline,  etc.  But  Adelle  had  nothing  for  the  "fu 
turists";  and  finally  Major  Pound  gave  her  up  and 
turned  to  the  lady  on  his  right.  Archie,  whose  rest 
less  eyes  had  seen  the  situation  opposite  him,  cast  his 
wife  some  sour  looks.  He  himself  was  more  boister 
ous  than  usual,  as  if  to  cover  up  the  dumbness  of  his 

369 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

wife.  They  were  dining  to-night  the  younger  "polo " 
set  for  the  most  part,  and  the  men  and  women  of  this 
set  liked  to  make  a  great  deal  of  noise,  laughed 
boisterously  at  nothing,  shouted  at  each  other, 
sang  at  the  table,  and  often  drank  more  than  was 
good  for  them.  Archie  ordered  in  the  victrola,  and 
between  courses  the  couples  "trotted,"  then  a  new 
amusement  that  had  just  reached  the  Coast. 

When  at  last  the  company  divided  for  coffee  and 
smoking,  Archie  whispered  to  his  wife  snarlingly,  — 

"Can't  you  open  your  mouth?" 

Adelle  was  insensible  to  his  little  dig,  as  she  called 
it,  and  silently,  mechanically  went  through  with  her 
petty  task  of  hostess  in  the  hall  where  the  women 
sat,  as  the  drawing-room  was  still  in  the  hands  of  the 
decorators.  All  the  fictitious  gayety  of  the  party 
died  out  as  soon  as  the  sexes  separated.  The  women 
gathered  in  a  little  knot  around  the  fireplaces  to 
smoke  and  talked  about  the  wind.  It  got  on  their 
nerves,  they  asserted  querulously. 

" It's  the  one  thing  I  can't  stand  in  California,"  a 
pretty  little  woman,  who  had  recently  taken  up  her 
residence  on  the  Coast,  remarked  in  a  tone  of  per 
sonal  grievance. 

"We  have  had  a  great  deal  of  north  wind  this 
year,"  another  said. 

Adelle  made  no  comment.  The  weather  never 
interested  her.  It  was  one  of  the  large  impersonal 
facts  of  life,  outside  her  control,  that  she  accepted 
without  criticism.  The  men  stayed  away  a  long  time 

370 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

in  Archie's  "library"  in  the  other  wing,  probably 
talking  polo  or  business,  and  cosily  enjoying  their 
coffee,  liqueurs,  and  cigars.  Archie's  cigars  took  a 
long  time  to  smoke  and  the  older  men  usually  had 
two.  The  women  were  bored.  Irene  Pointer  yawned 
openly  in  her  corner  by  the  fire.  She  and  her  old 
friend  rarely  exchanged  remarks  these  days.  Irene 
avoided  Adelle,  which  Adelle  was  beginning  to  per 
ceive.  It  was  understood  in  the  colony  that  Irene 
Pointer  did  not  approve  of  the  way  in  which  Adelle 
"managed"  her  husband,  and  told  her  so.  Irene 
herself  was  very  discreet,  and  "managed"  George 
Pointer  admirably  so  that  she  had  a  great  deal  of 
freedom,  and  he  was  perfectly  content. 

At  last  the  men  drifted  back  and  stood  in  a  row 
before  the  blazing  fire.  Archie  had  in  the  victrola 
once  more  and  tried  to  start  them  dancing,  but  the 
hall  was  too  crowded  with  furniture  and  the  draw 
ing-room  could  not  be  used.  He  wanted  to  have  the 
dining-room  cleared,  but  there  was  a  spirit  of  restless 
ness  among  the  guests.  They  could  not  revive  the 
gayety  of  the  dinner-table.  It  was  not  long  before 
the  last  motor  had  rolled  down  the  drive.  Archie 
came  back  into  the  hall  from  the  door  after  speeding 
his  guests  and  stood  moodily  staring  at  Adelle.  He 
was  vexed.  The  party  had  been  a  failure,  —  dull. 
And  she  knew  that  he  thought  her  responsible  for  it. 
She  expected  an  outburst,  for  Archie  did  not  usually 
take  any  pains  to  control  his  feelings.  She  waited. 
She  knew  that  if  he  spoke  she  should  say  something 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

this  time.  She  would  probably  regret  it,  but  she 
might  even  tell  him  her  secret,  as  the  easiest  way  to 
crush  him  utterly.  She  looked  at  him,  a  dangerous 
light  in  her  gray  eyes. 

This  was  the  man  she  had  craved  so  utterly  that 
she  had  run  every  risk  to  possess  him!  Irene  had 
called  him  "a  bounder" ;  and  now  he  was  "going  too 
far"  with  Irene — not  that  she  especially  cared  about 
that,  either.  But  all  his  arrogance,  his  folly,  his  idle 
ness  and  futility  were  built  upon  her  fortune,  which 
really  did  not  belong  to  her  after  all.  A  cruel  desire 
to  see  him  crumble  entered  her  heart,  and  she  knew 
that  she  should  tell  him  the  truth  if  he  attacked  her 
as  she  expected. 

But  this  one  time  Archie  refrained  from  express 
ing  himself.  Even  in  his  flustered  state  he  recognized 
a  peculiar  danger  signal  in  the  stare  of  his  passive 
wife.  With  a  gesture  of  disgust  he  lounged  out  of  the 
hall  in  the  direction  of  his  library.  Adelle  watched 
him  go.  Should  she  follow  him  in  there  and  deal  her 
blow?  She  heard  the  door  of  the  large  drawing-room 
open  and  close  behind  him.  She  knew  that  he  would 
keep  on  drinking  by  himself  until  he  felt  properly 
sleepy.  She  did  not  follow  him.  Instead,  she  went 
upstairs  to  the  rooms  occupied  by  her  child  and  his 
nurse,  as  she  did  every  night  before  going  to  bed. 
The  little  fellow  was  lying  at  full  length  on  his  small 
bed.  His  hands  were  clenched;  his  arms  stretched 
out  above  his  head;  his  face  had  an  expression  of 
effort,  as  if  in  his  dreams  he  were  putting  forth  all 

372 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

his  tiny  might  to  accomplish  something.  He  looked 
very  handsome.  Except  for  that  weak  curve  to  the 
pleasure-loving  lips,  he  resembled  neither  Archie 
nor  Adelle.  Nature  seemingly  had  been  dissatisfied 
with  them  both,  and  in  drawing  new  life  from  them 
had  chosen  to  return  along  the  line  of  their  ancestry 
to  select  a  more  promising  mould  than  either  of  the 
parents.  The  fact  that  this  could  be  so  —  that  the 
child  from  her  womb  might  be  more  than  herself  or 
Archie  —  thrilled  Adelle.  "Boy"  as  she  called  him 
was  mystery  and  religion  to  her.  He  was  to  become 
the  unfulfilled  dream  of  her  life.  This  one  perfect 
thing  had  been  given  her  out  of  the  accidents  of 
her  disordered  life,  and  she  must  make  the  utmost 
of  it. 

She  covered  him  up  where  in  his  dream  he  had 
kicked  himself  free  from  the  blanket.  She  bent  and 
kissed  him  on  the  forehead  gently  not  to  awaken  him. 
He  rolled  over,  settled  himself  into  an  easier  position, 
and  the  tension  of  his  small  face  relaxed.  Instead  of 
the  frown  of  effort  a  beautiful  smile  broke  over  his 
face,  as  if  at  the  touch  of  his  mother's  lips  the  char 
acter  of  his  dreams  had  changed  to  something  highly 
pleasurable.  Adelle's  eyes  filled  with  unaccustomed 
tears,  and  she  lingered  there  a  few  moments.  Noth 
ing  was  too  much  to  do  for  him,  to  bear  for  him, 
no  sacrifice  that  she  might  make  for  his  future!  It 
was  settled.  She  should  never  speak  to  any  one  of 
what  she  knew.  " Boy"  should  have  everything  she 
could  give  him,  all  that  was  left  of  her  magic  lamp. 

373 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Even  Archie  could  never  exasperate  her  again  enough 
to  endanger  the  child's  future. 

She  turned  down  the  night-light  and  tiptoed  out 
of  the  room.  To-morrow  she  would  move  up  here, 
even  if  she  had  to  put  the  nurse  in  some  other  place, 
and  henceforth  she  would  never  be  separated  from 
her  child.  He  should  stand  between  her  and  his 
father.  She  went  to  her  rooms  on  the  lower  floor,  but 
before  undressing  she  stepped  out  on  the  broad  ter 
race,  which  was  now  almost  ready  for  the  sod.  The 
great  wall  was  all  but  finished  —  the  corner  by  the 
orangery  to  be  built  up  even  with  the  rest.  As  she 
came  out  from  the  shelter  of  the  house  the  blast  of 
wind  caught  her  thin  dress  and  swept  it  out  before 
her  like  a  streamer.  She  had  to  hold  her  hair  to  pre 
vent  the  wind  from  unwinding  it.  She  could  see 
nothing —  the  impalpable  blackness  reached  far  down 
into  the  depths  of  the  canon,  far  out  into  the  space 
above  the  land  and  the  sea.  Usually  even  on  dark 
nights  the  hill  behind  the  house  brooded  over  the 
place  like  a  faint  shadow,  but  to-night  it  was  blotted 
out.  The  house  was  dark  except  for  the  light  in 
Archie's  library  at  the  other  end  of  the  terrace  and 
the  faint  candle  gleam  of  the  night-light  in  the 
nursery. 

Adelle  liked  the  black  storm.  It  soothed  her 
troubled  mind  by  its  sheer  force,  passing  through 
her  like  the  will  of  a  stronger  being.  Adelle  was 
growing,  at  last,  after  all  these  years  of  impercept 
ible  change,  of  spiritual  stagnation.  She  had  begun 

374 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  grow  with  the  coming  of  her  child,  and  these  last 
weeks  she  had  been  growing  fast.  She  even  realized 
that  she  was  changing,  was  becoming  another,  un 
familiar  person.  She  felt  it  to-night  more  than  at 
any  time  in  all  her  life  —  the  strangeness  of  being 
somebody  other  than  her  familiar  self.  She  said  it 
was  her  " experiences."  It  was,  indeed,  familiarity 
with  Archie  and  his  disgusting  weakness.  It  was  her 
young  cousin,  the  stone  mason,  and  all  that  the  dis 
covery  of  him  as  a  person,  as  well  as  her  relationship 
to  him  and  his  claim  upon  her  property,  had  meant. 
It  was,  of  course,  the  influence  of  creative  mother 
hood  upon  her.  But  it  was  more  than  all  these  com 
bined  that  had  started  the  belated  growth  of  her 
soul,  now  that  she  was  twenty-five,  married,  and  had  I 
a  child.  It  was  an  unknown  power  within  her,  like  this 
mighty  passionate  wind,  germinating  late  and  un 
expectedly  in  the  thin  soil  of  her  mind,  irresistibly 
taking  possession  of  her  and  shaping  her  anew. 
Many  would  call  it  God.  Adelle  did  not  name  the 
power. 

This  becoming  another  person  was  not  especially 
pleasurable.  It  was  perplexing  and  tragic  as  now. 
But  Adelle  was  beginning  to  realize  very  dimly  that 
she  was  not  living  for  her  own  happiness,  not  even  for 
the  happiness  of  her  child,  wholly.  She  did  not  know 
why  she  was  living.  But  she  knew  that  life  meant 
much  more  than  the  happiness  of  any  one  being  or 
of  many  beings.  It  was  like  this  high  wind  from  the 
mountains  and  the  deserts,  rushing  over  the  earth 

375 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

with  a  fierce,  compelling  impulse — whither?  Ah,  that 
no  one  could  say.  One  must  bend  before  the  blast, 
but  not  yield  to  it  altogether  —  not  be  scattered 
fruitless  by  its  careless  hand.  Adelle  thus  had  come 
a  long  way  from  that  girl  who  had  run  off  with 
Archie  to  Paris:  she  knew  it.  And  having  come  so  far, 
who  could  say  where  she  would  finally  end?  .  .  .  She 
pressed  her  body  against  the  strong  wind  and  felt  it 
wrap  her  about  like  the  firm  embrace  of  a  living 
being.  The  tempest  calmed  and  strengthened  her. 
At  last  she  went  back  to  her  room,  undressed 
quickly,  and  got  to  bed.  The  last  conscious  thought 
that  came  to  her  was  a  resolve  to  look  into  her  af 
fairs  herself  at  once  and  put  an  end  to  all  the  folly 
that  she  and  Archie  had  committed  with  her  money 
—  to  guard  what  was  left  for  the  use  of  her  boy.  For 
the  rest,  she  should  go  on  as  she  had  begun,  waiting 
always  for  the  convincing  urge  of  her  destiny,  prov 
ing  her  way  step  by  step.  She  would  not  confide  in 
any  one  what  she  knew  about  the  lost  heirs  of  Clark's 
Field. 


XLI 

AFTER  a  time  Adelle  became  confusedly  conscious  of 
some  disturbance  around  her.  She  thought  at  first 
that  it  must  be  Archie  noisily  entering  the  neighbor 
ing  chamber.  But  soon  she  heard  loud  cries  and  sat 
upright,  listening.  Then  she  became  aware  of  a 
thick,  suffocating  atmosphere  and  the  acrid  taste  of 
smoke  in  her  mouth.  The  electric  light  would  not 
respond  to  her  touch.  She  knew  what  it  meant  — 
Fire !  With  one  bound  she  leaped  from  her  bed  and 
ran,  just  as  she  was  in  nightdress,  for  the  hall  from 
which  the  large  staircase  led  up  to  the  upper  story  — 
the  only  approach  to  her  child's  rooms  from  this  end 
of  the  house.  The  staircase  was  a  bank  of  roaring 
flame  and  the  hall  itself  was  vividly  streaked  with 
dashes  of  eating  flame.  She  rushed  chokingly  straight 
for  the  blazing  staircase  and  would  have  died  in  the 
fire  had  not  one  of  the  servants  caught  her  in  time 
and  dragged  her  back  outside  through  the  open  door. 
She  quickly  slipped  through  the  man's  grasp,  and 
without  uttering  a  cry  started  around  the  house  for 
the  servants'  entrance.  Archie  came  stumbling  into 
the  light,  half  dressed  in  his  evening  clothes,  strug 
gling  to  put  an  arm  into  one  of  the  sleeves  of  his 
coat.  She  cried,  — 

"The  boy  —  the  boy  —  save  him!" 
377 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

One  glance  at  Archie's  nerveless,  vacant  face  was 
enough.  There  was  no  help  to  be  had  in  him ! 

"  Dell— where  is  he?  "  Archie  called,  still  fumbling 
for  the  lost  sleeve.  But  she  had  disappeared. 

At  the  servants'  door  some  men  were  pounding  and 
shouting.  The  door  was  locked  and  bolted  and  stood 
fast.  Adelle  threw  herself  against  it,  pounding  with 
her  fists;  then,  as  if  divining  its  unyielding  strength, 
she  sped  on  around  the  corner  of  the  house  to  the  open 
terrace.  There  a  number  of  the  servants  and  helpers 
on  the  estate  were  running  to  and  fro  shouting  and 
calling  for  help.  Already  the  fire  gleamed  through 
the  house  from  the  front  and  the  wind  lifted  great 
plumes  of  flame  against  the  dark  hillside,  painting 
the  tall  eucalyptus  trees  fantastically.  The  fire, 
starting  evidently  in  the  central  part  of  the  house 
which  contained  the  drawing-room,  had  shot  first 
up  the  broad  staircase  and  was  now  eating  its  way 
through  the  second  floor  and  reaching  across  to  the 
farther  wing  that  hung  directly  above  the  canon. 
More  and  more  persons  arrived  while  Adelle  ran  up 
and  down  the  terrace,  like  a  hunted  animal,  moaning 
—  "Boy!  Boy!"  There  was  talk  of  ladders,  which 
had  been  left  by  the  workmen  at  the  garage  half  a 
mile  away.  Before  these  could  be  got  or  the  hose 
attached  to  the  fireplugs,  the  flame  had  swirled  out 
from  the  lonely  wing  where  the  child  and  his  nurse 
slept.  Even  if  the  ladders  came,  they  would  be  of 
no  use  over  the  deep  pit  of  the  canon,  and  the  center 
of  the  house  was  now  a  roaring  furnace.  Adelle  clung 

378 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  the  rough  rock  of  her  great  wall  —  the  support 
ing  wall  to  this  part  of  her  house  —  the  wall  she  had 
watched  with  such  interest,  such  admiration  for  its 
size  and  strength.  It  reached  away  from  her  slight, 
white  figure  down  into  the  gloom  of  the  canon,  and 
upon  it  rested  the  burning  house.  While  she  clung 
there  dry-eyed,  moaning,  she  was  conscious  of 
Archie's  attempt  to  pull  her  back.  He  was  the  same 
bewildered  figure,  collarless,  in  evening  clothes  — 
the  same  feeble,  useless  man,  failing  her  at  this  crisis 
as  always.  She  shook  off  his  touch  with  repugnance 
and  crouched  close  to  the  wall,  as  near  as  she  could 
get  to  her  child. 

Then  there  passed  a  few  of  those  terrible  moments 
that  are  as  nothing  and  as  a  lifetime  crowded  with 
agony  to  the  human  being.  The  wind  poured  noisily 
through  the  canon,  bending  before  its  blast  the  sway 
ing  trees,  but  even  louder  than  the  wind  was  the 
roar  of  the  conquering  fire  that  now  illuminated  all 
the  hillside  like  day  and  revealed  the  little  figures  of 
impotent  men  and  women,  who  ran  this  way  and 
that  confusedly,  helplessly,  crying  and  shouting. 
The  center  of  the  great  house  was  a  solid  pillar  of 
flame,  and  the  fire  was  eating  its  way  on  either  side 
into  the  wings.  The  wing  where  the  child  slept  rose 
from  the  canon  like  a  walled  castle,  impregnable  — 
Adelle  might  remember  that  "  Boy"  had  chosen 
these  rooms  in  the  remote  corner  of  the  house,  fas 
cinated  by  their  lofty  perch  over  the  deep  canon. 
And  there,  at  the  bottom  of  the  wall  that  she  had 

379 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

built,  the  mother  clung,  helpless,  beyond  reach  of 
her  child. 

A  man  ran  out  on  the  parapet  of  the  terrace  past 
Adelle.  He  stopped  where  the  parapet  touched  the 
sheer  wall  of  the  building,  looked  up  at  the  burning 
house  which  cast  out  great  waves  of  heat,  knocked 
off  his  shoes,  threw  down  his  coat,  and  dove  as  it 
seemed  into  space.  She  knew  it  was  Clark,  the  stone 
mason.  People  crowded  around  Adelle  and  leaned 
over  the  parapet  to  see  what  had  become  of  him. 
They  shouted  —  " See  him!  There!  There! "- 
pointing,  as  the  wreaths  of  smoke  rose  and  revealed 
the  man's  dark  figure  clinging  to  the  wall,  creeping 
forward,  walking,  as  it  were,  on  nothing  in  space. 
With  fingers  and  toes  he  stuck  himself  like  a  leech 
to  the  broken  surfaces  of  the  rock  wall,  feeling  for 
the  cracks  and  crannies,  the  stone  edgings,  the  little 
pockets  in  the  masonry  that  he  himself  had  laid. 
He  climbed  upwards  in  a  zigzag,  slowly,  steadily, 
groping  above  his  head  for  the  next  clutch,  clinging, 
crawling  like  a  spider  over  the  surface  of  sheer  rock. 
As  he  rose  foot  by  foot  he  became  clearly  visible  in 
the  red  light  of  the  flames,  a  dark  shadow  stretched 
against  the  blank  surface  above  the  gulf.  The  Scotch 
foreman  said,  — 

"He's  crazy  —  he  can't  skin  that  wall!" 
Adelle  knew  that  he  was  speaking  of  the  stone 
mason;  she  knew  that  Clark  was  daring  the  impos 
sible  to  get  at  her  child,  to  save  her  "Boy."  She  felt 
in  every  fiber  of  her  body  the  strain  of  that  feat  — 

380 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  clinging,  creeping  progress  up  the  perpendicular 
wall  over  the  canon.  Those  around  groaned  as  they 
watched,  expecting  each  moment  to  see  the  man's 
body  fall  backwards  sickeningly  into  space. 

But  he  stuck  to  the  wall  as  if  part  of  it,  his  arms 
widespread,  his  fingers  feeling  every  inch  for  hold,  and 
now  he  was  mounting  faster  as  if  sure  of  himself, 
confident  that  he  could  cling.  If  he  could  keep  hold 
until  his  hand  touched  the  first  row  of  window-sills, 
he  had  a  chance.  A  long  red  arm  reached  up ;  groped 
painfully ;  the  finger-tips  touched  the  end  of  a  blind. 
There  was  dead  silence  except  for  the  roar  of  the 
wind-driven  fire  while  the  mason  pawed  along  the 
window-sill  for  safe  lodgment;  then —  "He 's  caught 
it!" 

A  shout  went  up,  and  while  her  breath  seemed  to 
choke  her,  Adelle  saw  the  man  in  the  glare  of  the 
flame  pull  himself  up,  inch  by  inch,  until  his  head 
was  level  with  the  glass,  butt  his  head  against  the 
heavy  pane,  and  with  a  final  heave  disappear  within 
while  a  black  smudge  of  smoke  poured  from  the  vent 
he  had  made. 

A  long,  silent,  agonizing  emptiness  while  he  was 
gone,  and  he  was  back  at  the  window,  standing  large 
and  bloody  in  the  light,  his  arms  about  the  figure  of 
the  nurse,  who  had  evidently  fainted.  Adelle  felt 
one  sharp  pang  of  agony;  —  "Why  had  he  taken 
her,  not  the  child?"  But  her  soul  rejected  this 
selfish  thought ;  —  "He  knows,"  she  said,  "he knows 
—  he  must  save  her  first!" 

381 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Clark  had  tied  the  sheets  under  the  woman's 
shoulders,  and  holding  the  weight  of  the  body  with 
one  hand,  he  crept  lightly  from  one  window  ledge  to 
the  next  until  he  came  within  reach  of  the  terrace, 
then  swung  the  woman  and  cast  her  loose.  She  fell 
in  a  heap  beside  Adelle.  They  said  she  was  living. 

Already  the  mason  had  groped  his  way  back  along 
the  sills  to  the  open  window  and  disappeared.  When 
he  reappeared  he  had  the  small  boy  in  his  arms,  evi 
dently  asleep  or  unconscious,  for  he  lay  a  crumpled 
little  bundle  against  the  mason's  breast.  This  time 
Clark  continued  his  course  along  the  sills  until  he 
reached  a  gutter,  clinging  with  one  hand,  holding 
his  burden  tight  with  the  other.  It  was  a  feat  almost 
harder  than  the  skinning  of  the  naked  wall.  When  he 
dropped  the  last  ten  feet  to  the  ground  cries  rose 
from  the  little  group  below.  It  was  the  unconscious 
recognition  of  an  achievement  that  not  one  man  in 
ten  thousand  was  capable  of,  a  combination  of  cour 
age,  skill,  and  perfect  nerve  which  let  him  walk 
safely  above  the  abyss  across  the  perpendicular  wall. 
It  was  more  than  human,  —  the  projection  of  man's 
will  in  reckless  daring  that  defies  the  physical  world. 

Adelle  always  remembered  receiving  the  child, 
who  was  still  sleeping,  she  thought,  from  the  mason's 
arms.  Clark  was  breathing  hard,  and  his  face  was 
slit  across  by  a  splinter  from  the  window-pane.  He 
was  a  terrible,  ghastly  figure.  The  blood  ran  down 
his  bare  arms  and  dripped  on  the  white  bundle  he 
gave  her.  .  .  .  Then  she  remembered  no  more  until 

382 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

she  was  in  a  bare,  cold  room  —  the  place  that  was 
to  have  been  the  orangery,  where  they  kept  the  gar 
den  tools.  She  was  kneeling,  still  holding  in  her  arms 
her  precious  bundle,  calling  coaxingly,  —  "Boy, 
wake  up !  Boy,  it 's  mother !  Boy,  how  can  you  sleep 
like  that!"  calling  softly,  piteously,  moaningly,  until 
she  knew  that  her  child  could  never  answer  her.  He 
had  been  smothered  by  the  smoke  before  the  mason 
reached  him.  Then  Adelle  knew  nothing  more  of 
that  night  and  its  horrors. 


XLII 

THERE  is  always  the  awakening,  the  coming  back 
once  more  to  consciousness,  to  the  world  that  has 
been,  and  must  endure,  but  will  never  again  be  as 
it  was.  Adelle  woke  to  consciousness  in  the  orangery, 
where  they  had  laid  mattresses  for  her  and  the  dead 
child.  Through  the  open  door  she  might  see  the 
blackened  walls  of  what  had  been  Highcourt.  The 
fire  had  swept  clear  through  the  three  parts,  scorch 
ing  even  the  eucalyptus  trees  above  on  the  hillside, 
and  had  died  out  at  last  for  lack  of  food.  The  debris 
was  now  smouldering  sullenly  in  the  cloudless,  wind 
less  day  that  had  succeeded  the  storm.  All  the 
beauty  of  an  early  spring  morning  in  California 
rioted  outside,  insulting  the  bereaved  woman  with 
its  refreshment  and  joy.  It  was  on  mornings  like 
this  after  a  storm  that  Adelle  loved  the  place  most. 
She  would  take  "Boy"  and  ramble  through  the  fra 
grant  paths.  For  then  Nature,  like  a  human  being, 
having  thrown  off  its  evil  mood,  tries  by  caresses 
and  sweet  smiles  to  win  favor  again.  .  .  . 

Adelle  lay  there  this  golden  morning,  one  arm 
around  the  little  figure  of  her  dead  child,  staring  at 
the  pool  outside  which  was  dappled  with  sunshine, 
at  the  ghastly  wreck  of  her  great  house  —  not  think 
ing,  perhaps  not  even  feeling  acutely  —  aware  merely 

384 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

of  living  in  a  void,  the  shattered  fragments  of  her  old 
being  all  around  her.  How  long  she  might  have 
lain  there  one  cannot  tell:  she  felt  that  she  should 
be  like  this  always,  numbed  in  the  presence  of  life 
and  light.  They  brought  her  food  and  clothes,  and 
said  things  to  her.  Archie  came  in  and  sat  down  on 
one  of  the  upturned  flower-pots.  He  was  fully  dressed 
now,  but  still  looked  shaken,  bewildered,  a  little 
cowed,  as  if  he  could  not  understand.  At  sight  of 
him  Adelle  remembered  the  night,  remembered  the 
shaking,  feeble  figure  of  her  husband,  trying  to  get 
his  arm  into  the  sleeve  of  his  dress-coat,  useless  be 
fore  the  tragedy,  useless  in  the  face  of  life.  "What 
can  I  do!"  he  had  whined  then.  Adelle  could  not 
then  realize  that  she  had  made  him  as  he  was  and 
should  be  merciful.  She  was  filled  with  a  physical 
loathing,  a  spiritual  weariness  of  him,  and  turned 
her  face  to  the  wall  so  that  she  might  not  even  see 
him. 

"Adelle,"  he  said.  There  was  no  reply.  "Dell, 
dear,"  he  began  again,  and  put  his  hand  coaxingly 
upon  her  shoulder. 

She  sat  up,  looking  like  a  fierce  animal,  her  hair 
tumbled  about  her  neck  and  breasts,  her  pale  face 
drawn  and  haggard.  "Don't  touch  me  —  don't 
speak  to  me!"  she  whispered  hoarsely.  "Never 
again!" 

She  threw  into  those  last  words  an  intensity,  a 
weight  of  meaning  that  startled  even  Archie,  who 
whimpered  out,  —  "It  was  n't  my  fault!" 

385 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Adelle  neither  knew  nor  cared  then  what  had 
caused  the  fire.  It  was  stupid  of  Archie  to  under 
stand  her  so  badly  —  she  was  not  blaming  him  for 
the  fire.  She  turned  her  face  again  to  the  wall,  but 
suddenly,  as  if  a  light  had  struck  through  her  blurred 
and  blunted  consciousness  of  the  world,  she  called, — 

"I  want  to  see  him  —  Clark,  the  mason;  —  tell 
him  to  come  here  to  see  me!" 

Archie,  crestfallen,  sneaked  out  of  the  orangery 
on  her  errand.  After  a  time  he  returned  with  the 
young  mason,  who  stumbled  into  the  dark  room. 
Clark  was  washed  and  his  cut  had  been  bandaged, 
but  he  showed  the  terrible  strain  of  those  few  min 
utes  on  the  wall.  His  face  twitched  and  his  large 
hands  opened  and  closed  nervously.  He  looked  pity 
ingly  at  Adelle  and  mumbled,  — 

"Sorry  I  was  too  late!" 

That  was  all.  Adelle  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  say 
that  it  was  useless  to  use  words  over  it.  She  did  not 
thank  him.  She  looked  at  him  out  of  her  gray  eyes, 
now  miserable  with  pain.  She  felt  a  great  relief  at 
seeing  him,  a  curious  return  of  her  old  interest  in 
his  simple,  native  strength  and  nerve,  his  personality. 
It  made  her  feel  more  like  herself  to  have  him  there 
and  to  know  that  he  was  sorry  for  her.  After  one  or 
two  attempts  to  find  her  voice  she  said  clearly,  — 

"  I  must  tell  you  something.  ...  I  thought  of  tell 
ing  you  about  it  before,  but  I  could  n't.  I  thought 
there  were  reasons  not  to.  But  now  I  must  tell  you 
before  you  go." 

386 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  now,  ma'am,"  the  mason 
said  gently.  "I  guess  it'll  keep  until  you're  feelin' 
stronger." 

"  No,  no,  I  can't  wait.  I  must  tell  you  now! "  She 
raised  herself  with  effort  and  leaned  her  thin  face 
upon  her  hands.  "I  want  him"  —  she  pointed  to 
Archie  —  "to  hear  it,  too." 

Then  she  tried  again  to  collect  her  mind,  to  phrase 
what  she  had  to  say  in  the  clearest  possible  way. 

"Half  of  my  money  belongs  to  you,  Mr.  Clark." 

The  two  men  must  have  thought  that  her  reason 
had  left  her  after  the  terrible  night,  but  she  soon 
made  her  meaning  clear. 

"I  did  n't  know  it  until  a  little  while  ago  when  I 
found  out  from  those  letters  who  you  were.  Not 
even  then,  just  afterwards.  Clark's  Field  was  left 
to  your  grandfather  and  mine  together,  and  somehow 
I  got  the  whole  of  it  —  I  mean  I  did  from  my  mother 
and  uncle.  The  lawyers  can  tell  you  all  about  it. 
Only  it's  really  half  yours  —  half  of  all  there  was!" 

Archie  now  began  to  comprehend  that  his  wife 
referred  to  the  old  legal  difficulty  over  the  title  to 
Clark's  Field,  and  interposed. 

"You'd  better  wait,  dear,  until  you  are  stronger 
before  you  try  to  think  about  business." 

But  Adelle  utterly  ignored  him,  as  she  was  to 
do  henceforth,  and  addressed  herself  singly  to  her 
cousin. 

"  I  always  thought  it  was  all  mine  —  they  said  it 
was.  And  when  I  knew  about  you,  I  did  n't  want  to 

387 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

give  it  up;  there  is  n't  as  much  as  there  was  because 
he  has  lost  a  good  deal.  But  that  makes  no  differ 
ence.  Half  of  the  whole  belongs  to  you  and  your 
brothers  and  sisters.  I  '11  see  that  you  get  it.  That 's 
all!" 

She  lay  back  exhausted. 

The  mason  remarked,  — 

"It's  rather  surprising.  But  I  guess  it  can  wait. 
It's  waited  a  good  many  years." 

And  after  standing  by  her  side  and  looking  down 
on  her  dumb,  colorless  face  a  while  longer,  he  left 
the  room. 

Archie,  who  was  clearly  mystified  by  his  wife's 
brief  statement,  concluded  to  regard  it  all  as  an 
aberration,  an  effort  on  her  part  to  express  fantasti 
cally  her  sense  of  obligation  to  the  stone  mason  who 
had  risked  his  life  to  save  the  child.  He  was  con 
cerned  to  have  Adelle  moved  to  a  more  comfortable 
place  and  told  her  that  friends  were  coming  to  take 
her  to  their  home.  She  made  a  dissenting  gesture 
without  opening  her  eyes.  She  wished  to  be  left 
alone,  entirely  alone,  here  in  the  orangery  whither 
she  had  taken  her  dead  child  the  night  before. 
Archie,  seeing  that  he  could  not  persuade  her  imme 
diately  to  leave  the  cheerless  spot,  spoke  of  other 
things.  He  was  voluble  about  the  cause  of  the  fire, 
hinting  at  a  dire  "anarchistic"  plot  of  some  dis 
charged  workingmen.  There  was  much  talk  in  their 
neighborhood  at  this  time  of  the  efforts  of  "anar 
chists"  to  destroy  rich  people's  property  by  incen- 

388 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

diary  fires.  Adelle,  with  her  face  turned  to  the  wall, 
moaned,  — 

"Go  away!" 

And  at  last  Archie  went. 


XLIII 

ARCHIE  was  voluble  about  this  non-essential  in  face 
of  the  personal  tragedy,  anxious  to  state  his  theory 
of  the  disaster,  because  he  had  more  than  an  un 
comfortable  consciousness  of  what  the  servants  and 
the  men  on  the  place  were  saying  about  it.  And 
that  was  that  the  master  himself  had  set  the  house  on 
fire.  It  had  started  in  the  large,  empty  drawing-room, 
in  which  the  decorators  had  been  still  working  with 
paints,  oils,  and  inflammable  stuff.  The  workmen, 
however,  had  not  been  in  the  room  for  hours  before 
the  fire  started.  The  only  person  who  had  entered 
it  during  the  evening  was  Archie  himself,  for  it  was 
on  his  way  from  his  library  to  his  suite  of  rooms  in 
the  other  wing.  He  had  sat  up  late  as  usual  after 
the  guests  had  gone,  smoking  and  drinking  by  him 
self,  then  had  stumbled  drowsily  through  the  house 
to  his  bedroom,  and  on  the  way  doubtless  had  dropped 
a  match  or  lighted  cigar  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
in  his  fuddled  condition  had  failed  to  notice  what  he 
had  done. 

The  first  person  to  discover  the  fire  had  happened 
to  be  Tom  Clark,  who  had  been  returning  late  from 
the  village  to  his  shack  on  the  hill,  and  had  seen  an 
unnatural  glow  through  the  long  French  windows  of 
the  drawing-room.  By  the  time  he  had  roused  the 

390 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

house  servants  in  their  remote  quarters  and  set  off  for 
the  garage  to  summon  help,  the  drawing-room  and 
the  adjoining  hall  were  a  mass  of  flame.  When  he 
returned  with  the  new  hose-cart  and  helpers  the  serv 
ants  had  already  opened  the  large  front  door,  ad 
mitting  the  wind,  which  blew  the  fire  through  the 
stairway  like  a  bellows  and  completed  the  destruc 
tion  of  the  house.  Clark  knew  as  well  as  Ferguson, 
the  superintendent,  and  a  half-dozen  others,  that 
when  Archie  emerged  from  his  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor,  he  was  not  fully  undressed:  though  it  was 
past  one  in  the  morning,  he  had  not  yet  gone  to  bed. 
And  although  no  one  said  anything,  habitually  cau 
tious  as  such  people  usually  are  when  indiscretion 
may  involve  them  with  their  masters,  they  had  eas 
ily  made  the  correct  deductions  about  the  cause  of 
the  fire.  .  .  . 

When  Archie  came  from  the  orangery,  he  saw 
Clark  standing  on  the  terrace  beside  the  ruins,  ex 
amining  the  scene  of  his  already  famous  exploit  of 
the  night  before.  He  may  well  have  been  wondering 
how  he  had  ever  succeeded  in  keeping  his  balance 
and  in  crawling  like  a  fly  over  the  surface  of  the  wall 
he  had  helped  to  put  up.  There  were  a  number  of 
other  people  loitering  about  the  ruins,  some  of  them 
from  neighboring  estates,  who  had  motored  over 
to  offer  help  and  lingered  to  discuss  the  disaster. 
Archie  joined  a  group  of  these,  among  whom  was  the 
stone  mason.  He  was  feeling  unhappy  about  many 
things,  especially  about  his  responsibility  for  the 

39i 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

fire.  He  began  to  talk  out  his  theory,  turning  first 
to  Clark. 

"You  did  n't  happen  to  see  any  of  the  men  hang 
ing  about  the  place  when  you  came  up  last  night?" 
he  asked. 

"No,"  the  mason  replied  shortly. 

"I  thought  maybe  those  Italians  might  have 
been  sneaking  about  here.  They're  ugly  fellows," 
Archie  remarked. 

"I  did  n't  see  nobody  around." 

"Some  of  those  fellows  are  regular  anarchists," 
Archie  persisted.  "They  would  n't  stop  at  firing  a 
house  to  get  even  with  a  man  they're  down  on." 

The  mason  stared  at  him  out  of  his  steely  blue 
eyes,  but  said  nothing.  He  began  to  understand 
what  Archie  was  driving  at,  and  a  deep  disgust  for 
the  man  before  him,  who  was  trying  to  "put  over" 
this  cheap  falsehood  to  "save  his  face,"  filled  the 
mason's  soul.  The  others  had  instinctively  drawn 
away  from  them,  and  Clark  himself  looked  as  if  he 
wanted  to  turn  on  his  heel.  But  he  listened. 

"I  should  n't  be  surprised  if  the  house  had  been 
set  on  fire,"  Archie  continued  confidentially.  "I'm 
going  to  have  detectives  look  into  it.  It  must  have 
been  either  that  or  spontaneous  combustion  in  the 
drawing-room. ' ' 

The  mason's  lips  twitched  ominously. 

"But  I  think  it  was  set  on  purpose!"  Archie  as 
serted. 

"  Oh,  go  to  hell ! "  the  mason  groaned,  his  emotions 
392 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

getting  the  better  of  him.  "Set,  nothing!  .  .  . 
Spontaneous  combustion !  You  know  how  it  got  on 
fire  better  than  anybody." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Archie  demanded. 

But  the  mason  strode  away  from  him  around  the 
corner  of  the  wall  and  disappeared.  Archie  followed 
him  with  his  eyes,  dazed  and  scowling.  He  had 
never  liked  the  fellow,  and  resented  the  fact  that 
he  had  been  the  hero  of  the  disaster,  while  he  him 
self,  as  he  was  well  enough  aware,  had  presented  a 
sorry  figure.  Now  this  common  workman  had  in 
sulted  him  a  second  time,  treated  him  as  though  he 
were  dirt,  dared  even  to  make  dastardly  insinua 
tions.  Across  Archie's  miserable  mind  came  Adelle's 
confused  words  about  her  property  belonging  to  the 
stone  mason  —  a  half  of  it.  He  had  explained  this  at 
the  time  as  due  to  the  shock  and  a  woman's  senti 
mental  feeling  of  gratitude,  but  now  he  began  to  give 
it  another  and  more  sinister  interpretation.  What 
had  she  been  doing  up  at  this  fellow's  shack  that 
afternoon?  It  hardly  seemed  possible,  but  unfortun 
ately  in  Archie's  set,  even  among  the  very  best  peo-  I 
pie  socially  of  Bellevue,  almost  anything  in  the  way 
of  sex  aberration  was  possible.  He  started  back  for 
the  orangery,  but  before  he  got  there  he  realized 
that  it  would  be  just  as  well  not  to  approach  his  wife 
at  this  time  with  what  he  had  in  mind.  Lying  there 
with  her  dead  child  in  her  arms  she  had  the  air  of  . 
a  wounded  wild  animal  that  might  be  aroused  to 
a  dangerous  fury.  He  had  the  sense  to  see  that  even 

393 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

if  his  worst  suspicions  were  justified,  it  was  hardly 
the  moment  to  exact  his  social  rights. 

So  he  wandered  back  to  the  ruin  of  Highcourt, 
where  he  found  condoling  friends,  who  took  him  off 
to  the  country  club  and  kept  him  there,  and  it  is  to 
be  feared  provided  him  with  his  usual  consolation 
for  the  manifold  contrarieties  of  life,  even  for  the 
very  rich. 


XLIV 

IN  due  time  Adelle  roused  herself  and  took  direction 
of  affairs.  She  went  down  to  the  manager's  cottage 
near  the  gate  of  Highcourt  and  thither  brought  the 
body  of  her  child.  From  this  cottage  the  little  boy 
was  buried  on  the  next  day.  Adelle  directed  that 
the  grave  should  be  prepared  among  the  tall  euca 
lyptus  trees  on  the  hillside  behind  the  ruins  —  there 
where  she  had  often  played  with  the  little  fellow. 
She  herself  carried  the  body  to  its  small  grave  and 
laid  it  tenderly  away  in  the  earth,  being  the  only  one 
to  touch  it  since  the  mason  had  first  put  it  lifeless  in 
her  arms.  Then  she  scattered  the  first  dirt  upon  the 
still  figure  and  turned  away  only  when  the  flowers 
had  been  heaped  high  over  the  little  grave.  Archie 
was  there  and  a  few  of  their  friends  from  Bellevue, 
as  well  as  a  group  of  servants,  by  whom  Adelle  had 
always  been  liked;  and  among  the  latter  was  the 
stone  mason.  Adelle  did  not  seem  to  notice  any 
one,  and  when  all  was  over  she  walked  off  alone  to 
the  manager's  cottage. 

Observing  his  wife's  tragic  calm,  her  bloodless 
face,  Archie  might  well  have  forgotten  his  suspicions 
and  refrained  from  attacking  her,  as  he  had  meant 
to.  But  he  never  had  the  opportunity  to  attack  her. 
In  some  way  Adelle  conveyed  to  him  that  all  was 

395 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

at  an  end  between  them,  and  made  it  so  plain  that 
even  Archie  was  forced  to  accept  it  as  a  fact  for  the 
time  being.  He  never  saw  Adelle  again  after  the 
brief  service  at  the  hillside  grave. 

Such  a  conclusion  was  inevitable:  it  came  to 
Adelle  without  debate  or  struggle  of  any  sort.  A 
tragedy  such  as  theirs,  common  to  man  and  woman, 
either  knits  the  two  indissolubly  together  as  nothing 
else  can,  or  marks  the  complete  cessation  of  all 
relationship.  In  their  case  they  had  nothing  now, 
absolutely,  to  cement  together.  And  Adelle  was 
dimly  conscious  that  she  had  before  her  pressing 
duties  to  perform  in  which  Archie  would  be  a  mere 
drag. 

For  the  present  Archie  went  to  the  club  to  live, 
crestfallen,  but  unbelieving  that  his  little  gilded 
world  had  come  to  an  end  for  good  in  this  summary 
fashion.  After  a  few  attempts  to  get  an  interview 
with  his  wife,  and  learning  finally  that  she  had  left 
the  neighborhood,  he  drifted  up  to  the  city,  for  he 
found  Bellevue  less  congenial  than  it  had  been,  with 
all  the  talk  about  the  Davises'  affairs  that  was  rife. 
His  true  performances  the  night  of  the  fire  had 
leaked  out  in  a  somewhat  exaggerated  form  and  even 
his  pleasure-loving  associates  found  him  "too  yel 
low."  Oddly  enough,  Adelle,  who  had  been  thought 
generally  "cold"  and  "stupid,"  "no  addition  to  the 
colony,"  came  in  fora  good  deal  of  belated  praise 
for  her  "strong  character,"  and  there  was  much 
sympathy  expressed  for  her  tragedy.  Thus  the 

396 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

world  revises  its  hasty  judgments  with  other  equally 
hasty  ones,  remaining  always  helplessly  in  error 
whether  it  thinks  well  or  ill  of  its  neighbors! 

For  a  number  of  days  after  the  burial  of  her  child, 
Adelle  remained  at  the  manager's  cottage  in  a  state 
of  complete  passivity,  scarcely  making  even  a  phys 
ical  exertion.  She  did  not  cry.  She  did  not  talk. 
She  neither  writhed  nor  moaned  in  her  pain.  She 
was  making  no  effort  to  control  her  feelings :  she  did 
not  play  the  stoic  or  the  Christian.  Actually  she 
did  not  feel:  she  was  numb  in  body  and  soul.  This 
hebetude  of  all  faculty  was  the  merciful,  protecting 
method  that  Nature  took  with  her,  dimming  the 
lamp  of  consciousness  until  the  wounded  creature 
could  gain  sufficient  resiliency  to  bear  a  full  realiza 
tion  of  life.  The  pain  would  come,  months  and  years 
hence,  bitter,  aching  pain;  but  then  she  would  be 
able  to  bear  it. 

Each  day  she  went  to  the  grave  on  the  hillside, 
and  carefully  ordered  the  planting  of  the  place  so 
that  it  should  be  surrounded  with  flowers  that  she 
liked.  Also  she  laid  out  a  little  shrub-bordered  path 
to  be  made  from  the  pool  beside  the  orangery  to 
the  hillside.  In  these  ways  she  displayed  her  con 
crete  habit  of  thought.  For  the  rest  she  sat  or  lay 
upon  her  bed,  seeing  nothing,  probably  thinking 
very  little.  It  was  a  form  of  torpor,  and  after  it  had 
continued  for  a  week  or  ten  days,  her  maid  was 
for  sending  for  a  doctor.  That  functionary  merely 

397 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

talked  platitudes  that  Adelle  neither  understood  nor 
heeded.  The  maid  would  have  tried  a  priest,  but 
feared  to  suggest  it  to  her  mistress. 

The  truth  was  that  Adelle  was  recovering  very 
slowly  from  her  shock.  She  was  only  twenty-five 
and  strong.  Her  body  held  many  years  of  activity, 
possibly  other  children,  and  her  mind  still  awaited 
its  full  development.  How  that  would  come  was  the 
really  vital  matter.  The  ordinary  result  would  be 
that,  after  the  full  period  of  lethargy  and  physical 
and  mental  recuperation,  Adelle  should  drift  back 
into  something  like  the  same  life  she  had  previously 
led.  She  would  go  abroad  and  establish  herself  in  a 
new  environment,  gradually  acquiring  new  associa 
tions  that  in  time  would  efface  the  more  poignant 
surfaces  of  her  tragedy  at  Highcourt.  She  would 
probably  marry  again,  for  she  was  still  a  young  wo 
man  and  had  a  considerable  remnant  of  her  fortune. 
She  might  reasonably  expect  more  children  to  come 
to  her,  and  thus,  with  certain  modifications  due  to 
her  experiences  with  Archie,  live  out  an  average  life 
of  ease  and  personal  interests  in  the  manner  of  that 
class  that  the  probate  court  and  the  laws  of  our  civi 
lization  had  made  it  possible  for  her  to  join. 

But  all  that  conventional  resolution  of  her  des 
tiny  was  not  to  be  because  of  ideas  already  at  work 
within  her  —  the  sole  vital  remains  from  her  previ 
ous  life.  Even  in  her  dullest  moments  of  physical 
and  mental  hebetude  she  felt  something  pressing 
upon  her  from  within  for  accomplishment,  like  a 

398 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

piece  of  unfinished  business  that  she  must  presently 
rouse  herself  to  put  through.  She  scarcely  knew 
what  it  ,was  until  she  made  an  effort  to  think  it  out, 
and  for  days  she  did  not  make  this  effort. 

Gradually  she  focussed  more  concretely  this  un 
conscious  weight  upon  her  soul.  It  had  to  do  with 
the  stone  mason  and  his  rights  to  his  grandfather's 
inheritance.  She  must  see  him  before  he  left  the 
country  and  come  to  a  final  understanding  about  it 
all.  She  wanted,  anyway,  to  see  him  more  than  any 
body  else.  He  seemed  to  her  in  her  dark  hour  the 
healthiest  and  most  natural  person  she  knew —  most 
nearly  on  her  own  level  of  understanding,  the  one 
who  really  knew  all  about  her  and  what  her  boy's 
death  meant  to  her.  But  she  was  still  too  utterly 
will-less  to  bring  about  an  interview  between  herself 
and  her  cousin  either  by  sending  for  him  or  going  up 
to  the  shack  to  find  him. 

Finally,  after  ten  days  of  this  semi-conscious  ex 
istence,  she  awoke  one  morning  with  a  definite  pur 
pose  stirring  at  the  roots  of  her  being,  and  instead  of 
returning  from  her  child's  grave  as  before  she  kept 
on  up  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  to  the  open  field.  The 
sight  of  the  large  sweep  of  earth  and  ocean  and  sky 
on  this  clear  April  morning  was  the  first  sensation 
of  returning  life  that  came  to  her.  She  stood  for 
some  time  contemplating  the  scene,  which  glowed 
with  that  peculiar  intense  light,  like  vivid  illumina 
tion,  that  is  characteristic  of  California.  The  world 
seemed  to  her  this  morning  a  very  big  place  and 

399 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

lonely  —  largely  untried,  unexplored  by  her,  for  all 
her  moving  about  in  it  and  tasting  its  sweets.  In 
this  mood  she  proceeded  to  the  little  tar-paper 
shack.  She  feared  to  find  it  empty,  to  discover  that 
the  mason  had  gone  to  the  city,  in  which  case  she 
should  have  to  follow  him  and  go  to  the  trouble  of 
hunting  him  up. 

But  he  had  not  yet  left,  although  his  belongings 
were  neatly  packed  in  his  trunk  and  kitty-bag.  He 
was  fussing  about  the  stove,  whistling  to  himself  as 
he  prepared  a  bird  which  he  had  shot  that  morning 
for  his  dinner.  He  had  on  his  town  clothes,  which 
made  him  slightly  unfamiliar  in  appearance.  She 
knew  him  in  khaki  and  flannel  shirt,  with  bare  arms 
and  neck.  He  looked  rougher  in  conventional  dress 
than  in  his  workingman's  clothes. 

At  sight  of  Adelle  standing  in  the  doorway,  the 
mason  laid  down  his  frying-pan  and  stopped  whis 
tling.  Without  greeting  he  hastily  took  up  the  only 
chair  he  had  and  placed  it  in  the  shade  of  the  pepper 
tree  in  front  of  the  shack.  Adelle  sat  down  with  a 
wan  little  smile  of  thanks. 

"I'm  glad  you  had  n't  gone,"  she  said. 

"  I  ain't  been  in  any  particular  hurry,"  her  cousin 
answered.  "  Been  huntin'  some  down  in  the  woods," 
he  added,  nodding  westward.  He  sat  on  the  doorsill 
and  picked  up  a  twig  to  chew. 

"I've  been  wanting  to  talk  to  you  about  that 
matter  I  told  you  of  the  morning  after  the  fire." 

The  mason  nodded  quickly. 
400 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"  I  don't  know  yet  what  should  be  done  about  the 
property,"  she  went  on  directly.  "I  must  see  some 
lawyer,  I  suppose.  But  it's  just  what  I  told  you, 
I'm  sure.  Half  of  Clark's  Field  belonged  to  your 
grandfather  and  half  to  mine,  and  I  have  had  the 
whole  of  it  because  they  could  n't  find  your  family." 

The  mason  listened  gravely,  his  bright  blue  eyes 
unfathomable.  He  had  had  ample  time,  naturally, 
to  think  over  the  astounding  communication  Adelle 
had  made  to  him,  though  he  had  come  to  no  clear 
comprehension  of  it.  A  poor  man,  who  for  years 
has  longed  with  all  the  force  of  his  being  for  some 
of  the  privilege  and  freedom  of  wealth,  could  not  be 
told  that  a  large  fortune  was  rightfully  his  without 
rousing  scintillating  lights  in  his  hungry  soul. 

"There  is  n't  all  the  money  there  was  when  I  got 
it,"  Adelle  continued.  "We  have  spent  a  lot  of 
money —  I  don't  know  just  how  much  there  is  left. 
But  there  must  be  at  least  a  half  of  it  —  what 
belongs  to  you!" 

"Are  you  sure  about  this?  "  the  mason  demanded, 
frowning,  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice;  "about  its  be 
longing  to  father's  folks?  I  never  heard  any  one  say 
there  was  money  in  the  family." 

"There  was  n't  anything  but  the  land  —  Clark's 
Field,"  Adelle  explained.  "It  was  just  a  farm  in 
grandfather's  time,  and  nothing  was  done  with  it  for 
a  long  time.  It  was  like  that  when  I  was  a  girl  and 
living  in  Alton.  It 's  only  recently  it  has  become  so 
valuable." 

401 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"You  did  n't  say  nothin'  about  any  property  the 
first  time  we  talked  about  our  being  related,"  the 
mason  observed. 

"I  know,"  Adelle  replied,  with  a  sad  little  smile. 
Then  she  blurted  out  the  truth,  —  "I  knew  it  — 
not  then,  but  afterwards.  But  I  did  n't  tell  you  — 
I  wanted  to  —  but  I  meant  never  to  tell.  I  meant 
to  keep  it  all  for  myself  and  for  him  —  my  boy." 

The  mason  nodded  understandingly,  while  Adelle 
tried  to  explain  her  ruthless  decision. 

"  You  'd  never  had  money  and  did  n't  know  about 
the  Field.  And  it  seemed  wrong  to  take  it  all  away 
from  him  —  it  was  n't  his  fault,  and  I  did  n't  want 
him  to  grow  up  poor  and  have  to  fight  for  a  living," 
she  explained  bravely,  displaying  all  the  petty  con 
sideration  she  had  given  to  her  problem.  Then  she 
added  with  a  sob  —  "Now  it 's  all  different !  He  was 
taken  away,"  she  said  slowly,  using  the  fatalistic 
formula  which  generations  of  religious  superstition 
have  engraved  in  human  hearts.  "He  will  not  need 
it!" 

There  was  silence.  Then  unconsciously,  as  if  ut 
tered  by  another  person,  came  from  her  the  awful 
judgment,  —  "Perhaps  that  was  why  he  was  taken 
—  because  I  would  n't  tell  about  the  money." 

"It  ain't  so!"  the  mason  retorted  hastily,  with 
a  healthy  reaction  against  this  terrible  creed  of  his 
ancestors.  "  It  had  nothin'  to  do  with  your  actions, 
with  you,  his  being  smothered  in  the  fire  —  don't 
you  go  worryin'  'bout  that!" 

402 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

In  his  dislike  of  the  doctrine  and  his  desire  to  deal 
generously  with  the  woman,  the  mason  was  not 
wholly  right,  and  later  Adelle  was  to  perceive  this. 
For  if  she  had  not  been  such  as  she  was  she  would  not 
have  willfully  taken  to  herself  such  a  disastrous  per 
son  as  Archie  and  thus  planted  the  seed  of  tragedy 
in  her  life  as  in  her  womb.  If  human  beings  are 
responsible  for  anything  in  their  lives,  she  was 
responsible  for  Archie,  which  sometime  she  must 
recognize. 

"You  don't  think  so?"  Adelle  mused,  somewhat 
relieved.  After  a  little  time  she  came  safely  back  to 
sound  earth  as  was  her  wont,  —  "Anyway,  it's  all 
different  now.  I  don't  want  to  keep  the  money. 
It  is  n't  mine  —  it  never  was ;  never  really  belonged  to 
me.  Perhaps  that  was  why  I  spent  it  so  badly.  .  .  . 
I  want  you  to  have  your  share  as  soon  as  possi 
ble." 

The  fire  had  done  its  work,  she  might  have  said, 
if  not  in  one  way,  at  least  in  another.  The  result  was 
that  she  no  longer  desired  to  thwart  the  workings 
of  law  and  justice,  of  right  as  she  knew  it.  She  wished 
to  divest  herself  as  quickly  as  possible  of  that  which 
properly  belonged  to  another.  After  all,  her  money 
had  not  brought  her  much!  Why  should  she  cling 
to  it? 

The  mason  was  still  doubtful  and  observed  frown- 
ingly,  - 

"It's  a  mighty  long  time  since  grandfather  left 
Alton  —  more'n  fifty  years." 

403 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Clark's  Field  has  only  been  put  on  the  market 
for  a  little  over  ten  years,"  Adelle  remarked.  " They 
could  n't  do  it  before,  as  I  told  you." 

" But  it's  been  settled  now,"  the  mason  demurred. 
"I  don't  know  the  law,  but  it  must  be  queer  if  the 
property  could  hang  fire  all  these  years  and  be  grow 
ing  richer  all  the  time." 

"Alton  is  a  big  city  now  where  the  old  Clark  farm 
was,"  Adelle  explained. 

"I  suppose  it's  growed  considerable." 

Then  both  were  silent.  The  mason's  mind  was 
turbulent  with  feelings  and  thoughts.  Across  the 
glorious  reach  of  land  and  sky  before  his  eyes  there 
opened  a  vision  of  radiant  palaces  and  possessions, 
all  that  money  could  buy  to  appease  the  desires  of 
a  starved  life. 

"My  folks  will  be  some  surprised,"  he  remarked 
at  last,  with  his  ironical  laugh. 

"I  suppose  so,"  Adelle  replied  seriously.  "You'll 
have  to  explain  it  to  them.  How  many  brothers  and 
sisters  have  you?" 

"There  are  five  of  us  left,"  Clark  said.  "  I  'm  sorry 
mother  has  gone.  She  would  have  liked  mighty  well 
having  a  bit  of  ready  money  for  herself.  She  never 
had  much  of  a  time  in  her  life,"  he  added,  thinking 
of  the  hard-working  wife  and  mother  who  had  died 
in  poverty  after  struggling  against  odds  for  fifty 
years.  "It'll  mean  a  good  deal,  too,  to  Will  and 
Stan,  I  guess;  —  they've  got  families,  you  know." 

Adelle  listened  with  a  curious  detachment  to  the 

404 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

happiness  that  her  magic  lamp  might  bestow  when 
handed  over  to  the  other  branch  of  the  family. 

"  Money  does  n't  always  mean  so  much,"  she  re 
marked,  with  a  deep  realization  of  the  platitude 
which  so  many  people  repeat  hypocritically. 

The  mason  looked  at  her  skeptically  out  of  his 
blue  eyes.  That  was  the  sort  of  silly  pretense  the 
rich  or  well-to-do  often  got  off  for  the  benefit  of  their 
poorer  neighbors  —  he  read  stories  like  that  in  the 
newspapers  and  magazines.  But  he  knew  that  the 
rich  usually  clung  to  all  their  possessions,  in  spite  of 
their  expressed  conviction,  at  times,  of  the  inade 
quacy  of  material  things  to  provide  them  with  happi 
ness.  He  was  quite  ready  for  his  part,  having  ex 
perienced  the  other  side,  to  run  the  risks  of  property! 

"I'd  like  to  try  having  all  the  money  I  want  for 
a  time!"  he  laughed  hardly. 

"I  almost  believe  it  would  have  been  better  for 
me  if  I  had  never  heard  of  Clark's  Field!"  Adelle 
exclaimed,  with  a  bitter  sense  of  the  futility  of  her 
own  living.  And  then  she  told  her  cousin  very  briefly 
what  had  happened  to  her  since  she  first  entered  the 
probate  court  and  had  been  made  a  ward  of  the  trust 
company. 

The  mason  listened  with  interest  and  tried  to  make 
out,  as  well  as  he  could  with  his  meager  equipment 
of  experience  in  such  matters  and  Adelle's  bare  state 
ment,  what  had  been  the  trouble  with  her  life.  At 
the  end  he  stated  his  conclusion,  — 

"I  guess  it  depends  on  what  sort  of  stuff  you've 
405 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

got  in  you  whether  money  agrees  with  you  or  don't. 
To  some  folks  it  does  seem  poison,  like  drink;  but 
the  trouble  ain't  with  the  money,  perhaps,  it's  with 
them." 

"I  suppose  so,"  Adelle  admitted  meekly.  "I  had 
no  one  to  show  me,  and,  anyway,  I  am  not  the  right 
kind,  I  suppose.  It  takes  a  good  deal  of  a  person  to 
spend  money  right  and  get  the  best  out  of  it  there  is." 

"Sure!"  the  mason  replied  freely;  and  added  with 
a  frank  laugh,  —  "But  we  all  want  our  chance  to 
try!" 

"What  will  you  do  with  your  money?"  Adelle 
asked. 

The  young  man  threw  back  his  head  and  drew  in 
a  long  breath  as  if  he  were  trying  to  focus  in  one 
desire  all  the  aspirations  of  his  thirsty  soul,  which 
now  he  could  satisfy. 

11 1  '11  take  a  suite  at  the  Palace  and  have  the  best 
booze  money  can  buy!"  he  said  with  a  careless 
laugh. 

"No,  don't  do  that!"  Adelle  protested  earnestly, 
thinking  of  Archie.  "You  won't  get  much  out  of 
your  money  that  way." 

"I  was  joking,"  the  young  man  laughed.  "No,  I 
don't  mean  to  be  any  booze  fighter.  There's  too 
much  else  to  do." 

He  confessed  to  his  new  cousin  some  of  the  aspira 
tions  that  had  been  thwarted  by  his  present  condi 
tion, —  all  his  longing  for  education,  experience,  and, 
above  all,  the  desire  to  be  "as  good  as  the  next  man, 

406 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

bar  none,  no  matter  where  I  be,"  an  aspiration  in 
explicable  to  Adelle,  a  curiously  aristocratic  sensi 
tiveness  to  caste  distinction  that  might  not  be  ex 
pected  in  a  healthy-minded  laboring-man.  It  was  the 
most  American  note  in  his  character,  and  like  a  true 
American  he  felt  sure  that  money  would  enable  him 
to  attain  "equality"  with  the  land's  best. 

"When  I  see  some  folks  swelling  around  in  motor 
cars  and  spending  their  money  in  big  hotels  like  it 
was  dirt,  and  doing  no  thin'  to  earn  it,  and  I  know 
those  who  are  starving  or  slaving  every  day  just  to 
live  in  a  mean,  dirty  little  way  —  why,  it  makes 
me  hot  in  the  collar.  It  makes  me  'most  an  anarchist. 
The  world's  wrong  the  way  things  are  divided  up!" 
he  exclaimed,  forgetting  that  he  was  about  to  take 
his  seat  with  the  privileged. 

"Well,"  Adelle  mused  dubiously,  "now  you'll 
have  a  chance  to  do  what  you  want  and  be  '  on  top ' 
as  you  call  it." 

"Mos'  likely  then,"  the  mason  turned  on  himself 
with  an  ironic  laugh,  "  I  shan't  want  to  do  one  thing 
I  think  I  do  now!" 

"I  hope  it  won't  change  you,"  Adelle  remarked 
quite  frankly. 

The  quality  that  had  first  attracted  her  to  the 
young  man  was  his  manly  independence  and  ability 
to  do  good,  honest,  powerful  work.  If  he  should  lose 
this  vital  expression  of  himself  and  his  zest  for  action, 
the  half  of  Clark's  Field  would  scarcely  pay  him  for 
the  loss. 

407 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me,  cousin!"  he  laughed 
back  confidently.  "But  here  we  are  gassin'  away  as 
if  I  were  already  a  millionaire.  And  most  likely  it 's 
nothin'  more  than  a  pipe-dream,  all  told." 

"No,  it's  true!"  Adelle  protested. 

"I '11  wait  to  see  it  in  the  bank  before  I  chuck  my 
tools.  I  guess  the  lawyers  will  have  to  talk  before 
they  upset  all  their  fine  work  for  me,"  he  suggested 
shrewdly. 

"  You  must  go  to  Alton  right  away  and  see  the  trust 
company.  I  will  meet  you  there  whenever  you  like — 
there's  nothing  to  keep  me  here  much  longer." 

"  When  you  are  feeling  ready  for  the  trip,  let  me 
know,"  the  mason  said  with  good  feeling.  "Say," 
he  added  with  some  confusion,  "you 're  a  good  one 
to  be  sittin'  there  calmly  talkin'  to  me  about  what 
I  am  goin'  to  do  with  your  money." 

"It  is  n't  mine  any  longer  —  you  must  get  over 
that  idea." 

"What  you've  always  considered  to  be  yours, 
anyway,  and  that  amounts  to  the  same  thing  in  this 
world." 

"I  like  to  talk  about  it  with  you,"  Adelle  replied 
simply,  and  with  perfect  sincerity,  as  every  impor 
tant  statement  of  Adelle's  was  sincere.  "I  want 
you  to  have  the  money  really.  ...  I'm  glad  it  is 
you,  too." 

"Thank  you." 

" I'll  do  everything  I  can  to  make  it  easy  for  you 
to  get  it  soon,  and  that  is  why  I  will  go  to  Alton." 

408 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

The  mason  rose  from  the  doorstep  and  walked 
nervously  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  shack.  At  last 
he  muttered,  — 

"  Guess  I  won't  say  nothin'  to  the  folks  about  the 
money  until  it  is  all  settled  —  it  might  make  'em 
kind  of  anxious." 

"No,  that  would  be  better/'  Adelle  agreed. 

"I'm  goin'  to  pull  out  of  here  to-night!" 

He  turned  as  he  spoke  and  shoved  one  foot  through 
the  paper  wall  of  his  home,  as  if  he  were  thus  sym 
bolically  shedding  himself  of  his  toilsome  past. 
Adelle  did  not  like  this  impulsive  expression,  she 
did  not  know  why.  She  rose. 

"Let  me  know  your  San  Francisco  address,"  she 
said,  "and  I  will  write  you  when  to  meet  me  in 
Alton." 

"All  right!" 

The  mason  walked  back  with  her  down  the  hill 
to  the  grave  of  her  little  boy.  He  would  have  turned 
back  here,  but  she  gently  encouraged  him  to  come 
with  her  and  stand  beside  the  flower-laden  grave.  It 
seemed  to  her,  after  what  he  had  done  in  risking  his 
life  to  rescue  the  child,  he  had  more  right  to  be  there 
than  any  one  else  except  herself  —  far  more  than 
her  child's  own  father.  They  stood  there  silently  at 
the  foot  of  the  little  mound  for  some  minutes,  until 
Adelle  spoke  in  a  perfectly  natural  voice. 

"I'd  have  wanted  him  to  do  some  real  work,  if  he 
had  grown  up  —  I  mean  like  yours,  and  become  a 
strong  man." 

409 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"He  was  a  mighty  nice  little  kid,"  the  mason  ob 
served,  remembering  well  the  child,  who  had  often 
that  summer  played  about  his  staging  and  talked  to 
him. 

Adelle  explained  her  scheme  of  treatment  for  the 
grave  and  the  grounds  about  it,  and  they  walked 
slowly  down  the  path  to  the  orangery. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  fix  it  all  up  as  you  want 
it?"  the  mason  asked. 

"Would  you?" 

"All  right — I'll  start  in  to-day  and  you  can 
watch  me  and  see  if  it's  done  right. " 

"But  you  wanted  to  go  up  to  the  city,"  Adelle 
suggested. 

"That  don't  matter  much  —  there's  plenty  of 
time,"  Clark  replied  hastily. 

And  in  a  few  minutes  he  remarked  gruffly,  "Say, 
I  don't  want  you  to  think  I  was  goin'  up  to  'Frisco 
on  a  tear." 

"I  did  n't  think  so!" 

She  realized  then  that  Clark  had  not  left  the  place 
all  these  ten  days  since  the  fire. 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  cut  out  the  booze,  now  there 's  some 
thing  else  for  excitement,"  he  added. 

"That's  good!" 


XLV 

ADELLE  registered  at  the  Eclair  Hotel  in  B with 

her  maid.  It  was  the  only  hotel  that  she  knew  in  the 
city,  although  when  she  first  crossed  the  ornate  lobby 
she  remembered  with  a  sick  sensation  that  other 
visit  with  Archie  on  their  scandalously  notorious 
arrival  from  Europe  to  take  possession  of  her  for 
tune.  However,  Adelle  was  not  one  to  allow  senti 
mental  impressions  to  upset  her,  and  signed  the 
register  carefully —  "Mrs.  Adelle  Clark  and  maid, 
Bellevue,  California."  She  had  resolved  to  signify 
her  new  life  by  renouncing  her  married  name  here 
in  the  country  where  she  had  begun  life  as  Adelle 
Clark,  although  her  divorce  was  not  yet  even  started. 

She  expected  her  cousin  Tom  Clark  in  a  few  days. 
She  had  thought  it  best  to  precede  him  and  pave  the 
way  for  him  at  the  Washington  Trust  Company  by 
announcing  her  news  to  the  officers  first.  A  little 
reflection  and  the  memory  of  certain  expressions 
from  the  trust  officers  of  complacency  in  their  suc 
cess  in  "quieting"  the  Clark  title  had  convinced  her 
that  this  would  be  the  wiser  course  to  pursue.  The 
trust  company  might  find  some  objections  to  undo 
ing  all  the  fine  legal  work  that  they  had  accomplished 
in  the  settlement  of  the  estate. 

Adelle  was  received  by  the  new  president,  that 
411 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

same  Mr.  Solomon  Smith  who  had  delivered  the 
trust  company's  ultimatum  to  her  after  her  marriage. 
Mr.  Smith,  it  seemed,  had  recently  succeeded  to  the 
dignity  of  President  West,  who  had  retired  as  chair 
man  of  the  company's  board,  fat  with  honor  and 
profit.  President  Solomon  Smith  received  Adelle 
with  all  the  consideration  due  to  such  an  old  and  rich 
client,  whose  business  interests  were  still  presumably 
considerable,  although  latterly  she  had  seen  fit  to 
remove  them  from  the  cautious  guardianship  of  the 
trust  company.  She  was  in  mourning,  he  noticed, 
and  looked  much  older  and  more  of  a  person  in  every 
way  than  when  it  had  been  his  official  duty  to  deliver 
his  solemn  wigging  in  the  Paris  studio  to  the  trust 
company's  erring  ward.  Mr.  Smith  probably  real 
ized  with  satisfaction  the  success  of  his  prophecies 
on  the  consequences  of  her  rash  act,  which  he  had  so 
eloquently  pointed  out.  Adelle  made  no  reference, 
however,  to  her  own  troubles,  nor  explained  why  she 
had  announced  herself  by  her  maiden  name.  She 
had  come  on  more  important  business. 

It  took  her  some  time  to  make  clear  to  the  banker 
what  the  real  purpose  of  her  visit  was,  and  when  Mr. 
Smith  realized  it  he  summoned  to  the  conference  two 
other  officers  of  the  institution,  who  were  better 
acquainted  with  the  detail  of  the  Clark  estate  than 
he  was.  After  the  thing  had  been  put  before  them, 
the  temperature  in  the  president's  office  leaped  up 
wards  with  astonishing  rapidity  on  this  chilly  day  in 
early  May.  Three  more  horrified  gentlemen  it  would 

412 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

have  been  hard  to  find  in  the  entire  city,  whose  citi 
zens  are  easily  horrified.  For  this  woman,  whom 
Fate  and  the  Washington  Trust  Company  had  en 
dowed  with  a  large  fortune,  to  try  to  raise  the  ghost 
of  that  troublesome  Edward  S.  Clark,  whom  they  had 
been  at  so  much  pains  and  expense  to  lay,  seemed 
merely  mad.  When  Adelle  reiterated  her  conviction 
that  she  herself  had  discovered  at  last  the  heirs  of 
the  lost  Edward  S.,  President  Smith  demanded  with 
some  asperity  whether  Mrs.  Davis  —  Mrs.  Clark  — 
understood  what  this  meant.  Adelle  replied  very 
simply  that  she  supposed  it  meant  the  California 
Clarks  getting  at  last  their  half  of  Clark's  Field, 
which  certainly  belonged  to  them  more  than  to  her. 

"Not  at  all!"  all  three  gentlemen  roared  at  her 
exasperatedly. 

"They'd  have  a  hard  time  making  good  their  title 
now!"  one  of  them  remarked,  with  a  cynical  laugh. 

"It  would  mean  a  lot  of  expensive  litigation  for 
one  thing,"  another  injected. 

"Which  would  fall  upon  you,"  the  trust  president 
pointed  out. 

"But  why?"  Adelle  asked  quietly.  "I  should  n't 
fight  their  claims." 

The  three  gentlemen  gasped,  and  then  let  forth  a 
flood  of  discordant  protest,  which  was  summed  up 
by  the  president's  flat  assertion,  — 

"You'd  have  to!" 

Patiently,  while  his  colleagues  waited,  he  tried 
to  make  clear  to  Adelle  in  words  of  two  syllables  that 

413 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  Clark's  Field  Associates  would  be  obliged  to  de 
fend  the  titles  they  had  given  to  the  land,  and  she 
as  majority  partner  in  this  lucrative  enterprise 
would  have  to  stand  her  share  of  the  risk  and  the 
legal  expense  involved.  Adelle  saw  that  the  affair 
was  more  complex  than  she  had  thought  and  said  so, 
with  no  indication,  however,  of  giving  up  her  purpose. 

"It  is  not  a  simple  matter  at  all  to  consider  the 
claims  of  these  California  Clarks.  The  land  has 
passed  out  of  our  —  your  control :  it  has  probably 
passed  through  several  hands  in  many  instances,  each 
owner  pledging  his  faith  in  the  validity  of  his  title. 
You  can  see  that  any  action  taken  now  by  these  heirs 
of  Edward  S.  Clark  against  the  present  owners  of 
Clark's  Field  would  injure  numberless  innocent  peo 
ple.  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of  for  one  moment!" 
Having  reached  a  moral  ground  for  not  upsetting 
things  as  they  were,  the  president  of  the  trust  com 
pany  felt  more  at  ease  and  expatiated  at  length  on 
"the  good  faith  of  the  Washington  Trust  Company 
and  all  others"  who  had  been  parties  to  the  transac 
tion.  Adelle  sighed  as  she  listened  to  the  torrent 
of  eloquence  and  realized  what  an  upheaval  her  sim 
ple  act  of  restitution  would  cause.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  the  law  was  a  very  peculiar  institution,  indeed, 
which  prevented  people  from  using  their  property  for 
many  years  in  order  not  to  injure  some  possible  heirs, 
and  then  just  as  stoutly  prevented  those  heirs  when 
they  had  been  discovered  from  getting  their  own! 

"It  is  simply  preposterous,  the  whole  thing,"  one 
414 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

of  the  younger  officers  observed,  rising  to  go  about 
more  important  business. 

"It's  not  likely  to  come  to  anything  —  they  are 
poor  people,  these  other  Clarks,  you  said?"  in 
quired  Mr.  Smith. 

" I  know  only  one  of  them,"  Adelle  replied.  "He 
was  a  stone  mason  working  on  my  place  in  Cali 
fornia.  It  was  by  accident  that  I  learned  of  his  re 
lationship  to  me.  He  has  some  brothers  and  sisters 
living,  four  of  them  I  think  he  said.  They  are  all 
poor  people.  I  don't  know  whether  he  has  any  cous 
ins.  I  did  n't  ask  him.  But  I  think  he  said  some 
thing  once  about  an  uncle  or  aunt,  so  it 's  likely  there 
are  other  heirs,  too." 

The  trust  president  asked  testily,  — 

"You  did  n't  by  any  chance  mention  to  this  stone 
mason  your  belief  that  he  was  entitled  to  a  share  in 
his  grandfather's  property?" 

"Yes,  I  did!"  Adelle  promptly  replied.  "We 
talked  it  over  several  times." 

The  three  gentlemen  murmured  something. 

"And  he  is  coming  on  to  see  about  it.  I  arranged 
to  meet  him  here  on  the  sixteenth,  day  after  to 
morrow." 

"Here!" 

Adelle  nodded. 

"We  thought  that  would  be  the  quickest  way  to 
settle  it,  as  you  know  all  about  the  property." 

"The  young  man  will  have  his  journey  for  noth 
ing,"  the  president  said  grimly. 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Then  he  took  Adelle  to  task  in  the  same  patron 
izing,  moral  tone  he  had  used  to  her  on  the  occasion 
of  her  marriage. 

"  My  dear  young  woman,  you  have  acted  in  this 
matter  very  inadvisedly,  very  rashly!'* 

That  was  her  unfortunate  habit,  he  seemed  to  say, 
to  act  rashly.  The  irony  of  it  all  was  that  Adelle, 
who  acted  so  rarely  of  her  own  initiative,  should  be 
exposed  to  this  charge  in  the  two  most  important 
instances  when  she  had  acted  of  her  own  volition 
and  acted  promptly! 

"You  see  now  how  disastrous  any  such  course 
as  you  proposed  would  be  for  you  and  for  many 
others. ' '  (He  was  thinking  chiefly  of  his  board  of  di 
rectors  and  the  gentlemen  who  had  profited  through 
the  Clark's  Field  Associates,  but  he  put  it  in  the  al 
truistic  way.)  "Fortunately,  you  can  do  no  great 
harm  to  these  innocent  persons.  The  titles  to  Clark's 
Field  we  firmly  believe  are  unassailable,  impreg 
nable.  No  court  in  this  State  would  void  those  titles 
after  they  have  once  been  quieted.  You  have  merely 
aroused  false  hopes,  I  am  afraid,  and  the  spirit  of 
greed  in  a  lot  of  ignorant  poor  people,  —  who  unless 
they  are  well  advised  will  waste  their  savings  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  get  property  that  does  n't  belong 
to  them." 

His  tone  was  both  moral  and  reproving.  He 
wanted  her  to  feel  that,  whereas  she  had  thought  she 
was  doing  a  generous  and  high-minded  thing  by 
communicating  to  this  lost  tribe  of  Clarks  herknowl- 

416 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

edge  of  their  outlawed  opportunity  for  riches,  she 
had  in  reality  merely  made  trouble  for  every  one  in 
cluding  herself. 

"You  are  a  woman,"  Mr.  Solomon  Smith  con 
tinued  severely,  "and  naturally  ignorant  of  business 
and  law.  It  is  a  pity  that  you  did  not  consult  some 
one,  some  strong,  sensible  person  whose  judgment 
you  could  rely  on,  and  not  fly  off  at  a  tangent  on  a 
foolish  ideal!  ...  By  the  way,  where  is  your  hus 
band?" 

"In  California,"  Adelle  replied  sulkily. 

She  did  not  like  Mr.  Smith's  tone.  He  knew  very 
well  that  Archie  was  not  the  strong,  sensible  person 
upon  whose  judgment  she  might  rely. 

"Are  you  divorced?  "  the  president  asked,  remem 
bering  that  she  had  announced  herself  by  her  maiden 
name. 

"No,"  Adelle  admitted,  wondering  what  this  had 
to  do  with  the  business. 

"Well,  your  husband  is  concerned  —  what  does 
he  think  of  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  It  makes  no  difference  what  he 
thinks  of  it,"  Adelle  replied. 

"You  will  find  that  it  does  make  a  great  differ 
ence,"  the  trust  officer  quickly  rejoined,  seizing 
upon  Archie  as  a  convenient  weapon.  He  thereupon 
discoursed  upon  the  legal  and  moral  rights  of  a  hus 
band  in  his  wife's  property  and  warned  Adelle 
solemnly  that  she  was  taking  a  dangerous  course  in 
acting  without  Archie's  consent.  Archie  doubtless 

417 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

would  have  been  much  pleased.  It  seemed  trying  to 
Adelle,  who  had  not  the  least  idea  of  ever  again  wait 
ing  upon  Archie's  consent  about  anything,  to  have 
her  marriage  used  against  her  in  this  fashion  by  the 
trust  company.  They  had  done  everything  they 
could  to  keep  Archie's  hands  off  the  property,  and 
now  they  gravely  told  her  that  it  belonged  to  Archie 
as  well  as  to  herself! 

Mr.  Smith  continued  to  talk  for  some  time  longer, 
but  Adelle  was  calmly  oblivious  to  what  he  was  say 
ing.  She  was  thinking.  It  was  clear  to  her  that  there 
were  objections  to  the  simple  method  by  which  she 
had  expected  to  transfer  a  part  of  Clark's  Field  to 
its  rightful  owners,  but  she  had  by  no  means  aban 
doned  her  purpose,  as  the  trust  company  president 
thought.  Like  many  forceful  men  whom  President 
Smith  very  much  admired,  she  was  no  great  re 
specter  of  law  as  such.  What  could  n't  be  done  in 
one  way  might  in  another,  and  she  must  now  find 
out  that  other  way,  which  obviously  she  would  not 
discover  from  the  officers  of  the  Washington  Trust 
Company.  So  she  rose  and  pulled  on  her  long  gloves. 

"I  must  think  it  over,"  she  remarked  thought 
fully,  "and  see  what  my  cousin,  Mr.  Clark,  thinks 
about  it.  I  will  come  in  again  in  a  few  days."  And 
with  a  slight  nod  to  the  assembled  gentlemen  she 
passed  out  of  the  president's  private  office. 

Three  disgusted  gentlemen  looked  at  each  other 
after  her  departure.  One  of  them  said  the  trite  and 
stupid  and  untrue  thing,  —  "Just  like  a  woman!" 

418 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Another  reacted  equally  conventionally,  —  "She 
must  be  a  little  queer." 

And  the  third  —  the  president  —  vouchsafed,  — 
"What  she  needs  is  a  strong  hand  to  keep  her 
straight." 

All  of  which  Adelle,  like  any  self-respecting  wo 
man,  might  have  resented. 


XLVI 

ADELLE  passed  through  the  marble  banking-room  of 
the  trust  company,  which  once  had  been  for  her  the 
acme  of  splendor,  out  upon  the  narrow  city  street 
in  considerable  puzzlement.  She  did  not  know 
which  way  to  turn  next,  literally.  She  might  consult 
some  lawyer ;  that  in  fact  was  what  the  trust  people 
had  advised  —  that  she  should  see  their  lawyers. 
But  Adelle  shrewdly  concluded  that  it  would  be  use 
less  to  see  the  Washington  Trust  Company's  law 
yers,  who  would  doubtless  tell  her  again  in  less  in 
telligible  language  precisely  what  the  trust  officers 
had  said.  And  she  knew  of  no  other  lawyers  in  the 
city  whom  she  might  consult  independently.  Be 
sides,  she  thought  it  better  to  see  her  cousin  before 
going  to  the  lawyers,  feeling  that  this  self-reliant,  if 
socially  inexperienced,  young  workman  might  have 
pertinent  suggestions  to  offer.  In  the  mean  time, 
not  having  anything  else  to  do  immediately,  she 
turned  in  the  direction  of  her  hotel. 

Any  of  the  preoccupied  citizens  of  B who 

might  have  encountered  this  black-dressed,  pale 
young  woman  sauntering  up  their  crowded  street 
this  morning,  could  scarcely  have  divined  what  was 
going  on  behind  those  still,  gray  eyes.  She  was  not 
thinking  of  the  goods  displayed  in  the  shop  windows, 

420 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

though  her  eyes  mechanically  flitted  over  them,  nor 
was  she  musing  upon  a  lover,  though  Tom  Clark 
often  crossed  her  mind,  nor  was  she  considering  the 
weather,  which  was  puritanically  raw  and  ruffling, 
nor  of  any  other  thing  than  how  she  might  divest  her 
self  of  a  large  part  of  that  fortune  which  the  Wash 
ington  Trust  Company  had  so  meritoriously  pre 
served  for  her !  There  was  a  very  simple  way  out  of 
her  dilemma,  of  course,  but  it  had  never  occurred 
to  her;  and  if  it  had  occurred  to  the  trust  officers, 
they  had  thought  best  not  to  suggest  it  to  their 
scatter-brained  client.  So  she  knitted  her  brows  and 
thought,  without  heeding  where  she  was. 

When  she  came  to  a  certain  small  square,  she 
turned  off  the  main  street  unconsciously  and  walked 
up  a  quiet  block  towards  the  court-house.  It  was  the 
path  she  had  trod  eleven  years  before,  only  in  the 
reverse  direction  when  she  had  led  her  aunt  from 
Judge  Orcutt's  courtroom  to  the  home  of  the  Wash 
ington  Trust  Company.  Her  mind  took  charge  of 
her  without  calling  upon  her  will,  as  it  did  so  often, 
and  presently  she  entered  the  great  granite  court 
house  with  no  clear  purpose  in  her  mind,  other  than 
a  hidden  desire,  perhaps,  to  see  the  probate  judge 
once  more.  Judge  Orcutt  was  not  in  the  room  on 
the  second  floor  which  she  remembered.  Instead, 
there  was  a  stranger  holding  court  there,  a  dull- 
eyed,  fat  gentleman  with  drooping  black  mustache 
and  a  snappy  voice,  who  did  not  attract  Adelle.  She 
thought  she  had  made  a  mistake  in  the  room  and 

421 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

looked  up  and  down  the  corridor  for  a  room  labeled 
with  Judge  Orcutt's  name,  but  found  none.  Then 
she  asked  a  court  attendant,  who  told  her  that  the 
judge  had  been  retired  for  the  last  two  years !  Adelle 
was  turning  away,  with  a  sense  of  disappointment, 
when  it  came  into  her  mind  like  an  inspiration  — 
"  He  might  still  be  living  in  the  city ! "  She  inquired, 
and  the  court  attendant,  who  did  not  know,  was  polite 
enough  to  consult  a  directory  and  found  that  sure 
enough  Judge  Orcutt  was  living  on  Mountcourt 
Street,  which  happened  to  be  not  far  away — in  fact 
just  over  the  hill  from  the  court-house. 

Thereupon,  Adelle  went  on  her  way  more  swiftly, 
with  a  conscious  purpose  guiding  her  feet,  and  found 
Mountcourt  Street  —  a  little,  quiet,  by-path  of  a 
street  such  as  exists  in  no  other  city  of  our  famous 
land.  It  was  not  a  rifle-shot  from  the  court-house 
and  the  busiest  centers  of  the  city,  yet  it  was  as  re 
tired  and  as  reposeful  as  if  it  had  been  forgotten  ever 
since  the  previous  century,  when  its  houses  were 
built.  And  in  the  middle  of  the  first  block,  a  sober, 
little  brick  house  with  an  old  white  painted  door  and 
window  lights,  was  Judge  Orcutt's  number.  Adelle 
was  shown  to  a  small  room  in  the  front  of  the  house 
and  sat  down,  her  heart  strangely  beating  as  if  she 
were  waiting  an  appointment  with  a  lover.  The 
house  was  so  still!  An  old  French  clock  ticked  si 
lently  on  the  mantelpiece  beneath  a  glass  case.  All 
the  chairs  and  tables,  even  the  rug,  in  the  small  room 
seemed  like  the  house  and  the  street,  relics  of  an  or- 

422 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

derly,  peaceful  past.  Adelle  knew  something  about 
furniture  and  house  decoration:  it  was  one  of  the 
minor  arts  patronized  by  her  class,  and  she  had 
learned  enough  to  talk  knowingly  about  "periods" 
and  " styles."  Judge  Orcutt's  house  was  of  no  par 
ticular  "period"  or  "style,"  but  it  was  remarkably 
harmonious  —  the  garment  carefully  chosen  by  a 
person  with  traditions.  .  .  .  Presently  the  servant 
came  back  and  invited  Adelle  to  go  upstairs  to  the 
judge's  library,  as  Judge  Orcutt  was  not  feeling  well 
to-day,  she  explained. 

The  study  was  like  the  room  below,  only  larger, 
lighter,  and  well  filled  with  books.  The  judge  was 
sitting  near  the  grate,  in  which  was  burning  a  soft- 
coal  fire.  He  smiled  on  Adelle's  entrance  and  apolo 
gized  for  not  rising. 

" It 's  the  east  wind,"  he  explained.  "  I  Ve  known 
it  all  my  life,  but  it  gets  us  old  fellows,  you  know,  on 
days  like  these!" 

Adelle  took  his  thin  hand  and  sat  down  in  the  seat 
he  pointed  out  near  the  fire.  The  judge  appeared  to 
her  to  be  no  older  than  he  had  the  first  time  she  had 
seen  him  when  she  went  to  the  probate  court  with 
her  aunt.  Then  he  had  seemed  to  her  child's  eyes  an 
old  man,  and  now  he  was  indubitably  old  and  rather 
frail,  with  a  clean-shaven,  delicately  moulded  chin 
beneath  his  white  mustache.  Adelle  was  in  no  hurry 
to  begin  on  her  errand.  She  glanced  about  at  the 
cheerful  room  with  its  rows  of  old  books,  presumably 
the  works  of  those  poet  friends  to  whom  the  judge 

423 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

could  now  devote  an  uninterrupted  leisure  in  com 
munion.  She  looked  at  the  old  chairs  and  lounge  and 
mahogany  secretary,  handed  down,  no  doubt,  from 
the  judge's  ancestors,  for  they  antedated  even  the 
old  judge.  And  then,  through  the  little  square  panes 
in  the  windows,  out  to  the  chimney-pots  on  the  slope 
of  the  hill,  and  across  the  harbor,  with  its  tangle  of 
wharves  and  masts,  to  the  bay,  through  which  the 
ships  passed  on  into  the  ocean.  She  felt  that  it  was 
exactly  the  right  location  for  an  old  gentleman,  who 
was  done  with  the  battles  of  life  and  yet  wanted  to 
remain  within  sight  and  sound  of  the  battle-field. 

The  judge,  noticing  her  roving  eyes,  remarked 
genially,  —  "  I  like  to  look  out  over  the  place  where 
I  have  been  working  so  many  years!" 

"It's  nice  here,"  Adelle  replied. 

There  was  much  more  in  the  room  and  the  house 
that  Adelle  vaguely  felt  —  an  air  of  peace,  of  gentle 
and  serene  contemplation,  that  came  from  the  man 
himself,  who  had  taken  what  life  had  offered  him  and 
turned  it  to  good  in  the  alembic  of  his  peculiar  na 
ture.  It  had  been  a  sound  and  sweet  life,  on  the 
whole,  and  this  was  a  sweet  retreat,  smelling  of  old 
books  and  old  meetings,  fragrant  with  memories 
of  another  world,  another  people!  This  fruit  of  the 
spirit,  which  is  all  that  is  left  from  living,  Adelle 
could  now  feel  acutely,  if  she  could  not  express  it 
fitly  in  words.  And  she  was  grateful  for  it.  She  knew 
that  at  last  she  had  come  to  the  right  place  for  the 
solution  of  her  problem,  and  she  did  not  hasten. 

424 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Neither  did  the  judge  hurry  her  to  her  errand.  Evi 
dently  he  recalled  who  she  was,  and  his  keen  eyes 
probably  read  more  of  the  secrets  of  those  years 
since  her  last  appearance  in  his  court  —  extrava 
gantly  dressed,  almost  insolent,  to  listen  indiffer 
ently  to  his  severe  homily  upon  Clark's  Field  — 
than  she  suspected.  So  they  chatted  for  a  few  min 
utes  about  the  view,  the  city,  the  old  house,  and 
then,  as  Adele  still  seemed  tongue-tied,  the  judge 
remarked,  — 

"My  servant  gave  your  name  as  Mrs.  Clark  — 
did  she  not  make  a  mistake?" 

"No,"  Adelle  said,  "That  is  what  I  shall  call 
myself  now  —  Mrs.  Adelle  Clark." 

The  judge  murmured  something  behind  his  hand. 
Hers  was  another  of  these  modern  mishaps,  it 
seemed,  falsely  called  marriages.  Each  case  of  di 
vorce  gave  his  old  heart  a  little  stab,  wounding  a 
loyalty  to  a  beautiful  ideal  that  he  had  kept  intact. 
But  he  was  old  enough  and  wise  enough,  having 
judged  men  and  women  all  his  life,  not  to  pronounce 
judgment  on  the  most  intimate  and  secret  of  all  hu 
man  affairs.  He  waited  for  Adelle  to  tell  her  story, 
and  presently  she  began. 

"Judge  Orcutt,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  tell  you 
something  and  ask  your  advice  because  I  feel  that 
you  will  know  what  to  do." 

With  this  introduction  she  proceeded  to  retell  her 
story,  the  one  she  had  told  that  morning  to  the  offi 
cers  of  the  trust  company.  But  having  been  over  it 

425 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

once  she  told  it  much  better  to  the  judge,  more  co 
herently,  more  fully,  with  many  small,  intimate, 
revealing  touches  that  she  had  omitted  before.  It 
was  easier  for  her  to  talk  to  the  old  man,  who  lis 
tened  with  warm,  understanding  eyes,  and  nodded 
his  white  head  when  she  cut  to  the  quick  of  things  as 
if  he  understood  why  without  being  told  everything 
precisely.  She  felt  that  she  could  tell  him  everything, 
all  her  own  life,  all  that  she  was  but  now  beginning  to 
comprehend  and  see  as  a  whole.  He  had  for  her  the 
lure  of  the  confessor,  and  Adelle  needed  a  confessor. 
So  she  described  to  him  briefly  the  course  of  her 
married  life  up  to  the  time  when  she  first  began  to 
notice  the  mason  at  work  upon  the  terrace  wall.  With 
out  accusing  Archie,  she  made  the  judge  neverthe 
less  comprehend  why  she  no  longer  could  bear  his 
name.  From  her  first  meeting  with  her  cousin  she 
was  much  more  detailed  in  her  story,  giving  every 
thing  chronologically,  anxious  to  omit  nothing  which 
might  be  of  importance.  She  told  all  the  circum 
stances  of  her  slow  comprehension  of  the  truth,  that 
this  stone  mason  was  her  second  cousin  and  should 
have  inherited  equally  with  herself  the  riches  of 
Clark's  Field.  She  told  squarely  of  her  weeks  of  hesi 
tation  and  final  decision  not  to  reveal  to  the  mason 
or  to  any  one  her  knowledge  of  the  truth.  Then  came 
the  night  of  the  fire  and  her  personal  tragedy  in  the 
ruin  of  Highcourt.  And  all  this  she  told,  dry-eyed, 
without  passion,  quite  baldly,  as  if  that  was  the 
only  way  in  which  she  could  face  it.  Lastly  she  told 

426 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

of  sending  for  the  mason  the  next  morning  and  be 
fore  her  husband  confessing  her  useless  secret,  and 
then  briefly  she  spoke  of  the  subsequent  steps  that 
had  brought  her  to  the  city  to  see  the  Washington 
Trust  Company. 

"And  they  told  you?"  queried  the  judge,  leaning 
forward  to  poke  the  coal  fire  into  flame. 

"They  said  that  nothing  could  be  done  now  for 
these  California  Clarks,  because  it  would  make  a  lot 
of  trouble  and  harm  innocent  people  to  go  back  of 
the  new  titles  to  the  property,"  Adelle  replied. 

"And  they  were  perfectly  right,"  Judge  Orcutt 
said,  with  a  long  sigh,  after  a  moment  of  considera 
tion.  "  It  was  the  only  thing  they  could  say  to  you ! " 

He  went  into  the  law  of  it  and  explained  to  Adelle, 
more  clearly  than  it  had  ever  been  done,  just  how 
the  uncertain  title  had  finally  been  "quieted,"  all 
the  legal  steps  which  had  been  duly  taken  to  no 
tify  the  unknown  heirs,  and  the  judicial  sale  ordered 
by  the  court,  with  the  meaning  of  the  process. 

"So  you  can  see  that  the  law  took  great  pains  to  find 
these  people,  and  make  sure  that  no  wrong  should 
be  done  to  any  rightful  claimants,  and  because  it 
failed  to  find  the  lost  heirs  there  is  no  reason  why 
people  who  bought  the  land  in  good  faith  should  be 
made  to  suffer.  You  see?" 

Adelle  saw,  but  she  was  disappointed.  It  was  the 
same  thing  the  trust  company  had  said  to  her,  only 
now  she  felt  sure  of  it.  What  could  she  say  to  her 
young  cousin?  That  troubled  her  a  great  deal.  She 

427 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

hated  to  disappoint  his  expectations,  which  she  had 
ignorantly  aroused. 

"  And  the  law  is  right,"  the  old  judge  mused  aloud, 
"whatever  hardship  it  may  seem  to  work  to  these 
unknown  heirs  like  your  California  cousins.  For  you 
must  see  that  human  life  could  not  go  on  unless  we 
cleaned  the  slate  sometimes  arbitrarily,  and  began 
all  over.  It  is  better  for  everybody  to  accept  certain 
inexact  or  unjust  conditions  rather  than  to  disturb 
the  whole  fabric  of  human  society  by  attempting  to 
do  exact  justice,  which,  after  all,  is  in  itself  a  human 
impossibility.  That  is  what  our  good  people,  reform 
ers  and  anarchists  alike,  often  fail  to  understand! 
...  So  these  Clarks,  I  am  afraid,  will  have  to  suffer 
for  the  carelessness  of  their  ancestor  in  not  leaving 
his  address  behind  him  when  he  left  for  the  West.  No 
court  would  open  up  the  old  tangle  about  Clark's 
Field  now  that  it  has  been  finally  adjudicated  ac 
cording  to  due  process  of  law.  No  court  would 
order  the  case  reopened — it  is  res  judicata,  fixed 
unalterably!" 

He  smiled  indulgently  upon  Adelle  with  his  little 
tag  of  legal  Latin.  He  might  be  a  poet,  but  he  knew 
the  laws  of  inheritance,  and  moreover,  now  in  his  old 
age,  he  had  come  out  from  his  valleys  of  indecision 
and  knew  that  there  must  be  many  wrongs  both 
legal  and  extra-legal  in  our  human  system,  and  that 
it  was  not  always  accomplishing  the  most  good  to 
try  to  do  exact  justice.  As  he  had  said  to  Adelle, 
ours  is  a  world  of  chance  and  mistake,  and  the  most 

428 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

wholesome  thing  for  every  generation  is  to  wipe  the 
slate  clean  as  far  as  possible  and  go  ahead  hopefully, 
courageously  to  create  a  new  and  sounder  life  upon 
a  substructure  possibly  of  fraud  and  injustice  and 
cruelty.  Thus  man  climbed  always  upwards.  To 
rend  and  tear  and  fight,  to  try  to  eradicate  every 
wrong  was  also  human,  but  it  was  largely  futile. 

So  when  Adelle  ventured  to  say,  — 

"But  people  often  do  try  to  upset  titles,  don't 
they?  I  have  seen  stories  in  the  newspapers  about 
heirs  getting  together  to  recover  possession  of  valu 
able  lands  that  have  been  out  of  the  family  longer 
than  Clark's  Field." 

The  judge  nodded,  and  added,  — 

"Too  true!  But  do  you  know  how  few  of  these 
attempts  ever  succeed  —  even  get  to  a  trial  of  the 
case?  Almost  none.  Usually  they  are  fraudulent 
schemes  of  rascals  who  collect  money  from  gullible 
persons  and  then  put  the  money  into  their  own  pock 
ets  and  nothing  whatever  is  done.  It  would  be  very 
foolish  of  these  cousins  of  yours  to  try  anything  of 
the  sort.  It  would  make  them  miserable  for  years 
and  eat  up  what  little  money  they  have.  You  must 
make  this  all  cle'ar  to  the  young  man  who  is  to  meet 
you  here.  Send  him  to  me  if  he  has  any  doubts! " 

"  What  can  I  do  about  it,  then?  "  Adelle  demanded. 
"It  belongs  to  them,  and  I  want  them  to  have  it. 
There  must  be  some  way!" 

The  judge  looked  at  the  young  woman  with  a  cu 
rious,  indulgent  smile.  He  had  gathered  from  her 

429 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

story  that  her  own  experience  with  Clark's  Field 
had  not  been  a  successful  one  by  any  means.  Was 
that  why  she  was  so  anxious  to  shoulder  off  upon 
these  unknown  members  of  her  family  the  burden 
of  riches  which  had  proved  too  much  for  her?  Just 
what  was  her  motive?  A  conscience  newly  aroused 
by  her  terrible  tragedy  and  hypersensitive?  An  in 
terest  womanwise  in  this  young  stone  mason,  who 
was  the  only  one  of  the  California  Clarks  she  had 
yet  seen?  .  .  .  The  judge  leaned  forward  and  took 
Adelle's  hand. 

"Tell  me,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "just  why  you  want 
them  to  have  your  money.  For  of  course  it  would  be 
your  money  that  they  would  get  in  the  end,  if  by  any 
possibility  they  could  win  their  case." 

Adelle  looked  into  the  old  man's  kind  eyes,  but 
did  not  reply.  It  was  not  easy  for  her  to  explain  the 
persistent  purpose  that  moved  her. 

"Has  wealth  meant  so  much  to  you?  or  so  little?" 
the  judge  asked,  thinking  of  his  own  part  in  provid 
ing  Adelle's  fortune  for  her. 

Adelle  slowly  shook  her  head. 

"Do  you  think  that  these  other  Clarks  would  use 
it  more  wisely?"  And  as  Adelle  did  not  reply  at 
once  he  repeated,  —  "Have  you  any  reason  to  be 
lieve  that  they  would  be  happier  than  you  have 
been  or  better?" 

"Money  doesn't  make  happiness,"  Adelle  said 
with  a  pathetic  conviction  of  the  truth  of  the  truism. 
The  energy  of  her  life,  it  seemed,  as  in  the  case  of  so 

430 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

many  others,  had  been  given  to  proving  the  truth  of 
axioms  one  after  another! 

The  judge  smiled  and  released  her  hand.  He  sat 
back  in  his  deep  chair  watching  Adelle  with  kindly 
eyes.  He  seemed  to  see  the  woman's  awakening 
mind  slowly  at  work  before  him,  struggling  patiently 
to  grasp  what  was  still  just  beyond  her  comprehen 
sion. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  appealed  finally.  "Tell 
me!" 

"There  is  something  you  can  do  —  a  very  simple 
thing!  I  wonder  it  has  not  occurred  to  you  before." 

"What  is  it?"  Adelle  asked  eagerly. 

"You  can  give  part  of  your  own  fortune  —  an 
exact  half  of  it  if  you  like  —  to  these  new  cousins 
of  yours,  and  so  accomplish  what  you  want  without 
hurting  any  one  but  yourself." 

"I  don't  think  they  would  take  the  money  that 
way — I  don't  believe  he  would!"  Adelle  said 
doubtfully. 

"There  are  few  persons,"  the  judge  observed  in 
dulgently,  "who  cannot  be  induced  to  take  money 
in  one  way  or  another!" 

"It  isn't  quite  the  same  thing,"  Adelle  said,  in  a 
disappointed  tone.  "I  don't  think  he  would  like  it 
that  way." 

"  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end,  does  n't 
it?" 

"Perhaps." 

She  did  not  tell  the  judge  that  if  she  should  give 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

these  California  Clarks  one  half  of  the  fortune  she 
had  received  from  Clark's  Field,  she  should  be 
poor,  perhaps  destitute. 

"But  before  you  decide  to  do  anything,  you  must 
make  up  your  mind  very  carefully,  for  it  cannot  be 
undone.  Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  are  doing  the 
wisest  thing  in  turning  over  such  a  large  fortune  to 
persons  you  know  almost  nothing  about?" 

"I  know  him  —  the  mason,  and  I  think  it  would 
be  safer  with  him  than  with  me." 

The  judge  smiled  enigmatically. 

"  If  he  would  take  it  from  me  like  that  —  perhaps 
he  need  not  know?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  that  he  had  better  know!  .  .  .  Bring 
him  to  see  me  when  he  comes  and  we  can  talk  it  over 
together,  all  three  of  us,"  the  judge  suggested. 

"I  will  do  that!" 

"And  now  I  want  you  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of 
lunching  with  me,  a  very  simple  old  man's  lunch, 
when  we  can  talk  about  other  things  than  money!" 
And  with  another  gentle  smile  the  judge  took  Adelle's 
arm  and  hobbled  out  to  the  next  room. 

A  cheerful  bar  of  sunlight  fell  across  the  small 
table  between  the  two  napkins  and  made  the  old 
silver  gleam.  Adelle  felt  more  at  peace,  more  calmly 
content  with  life,  than  she  had  since  the  death  of 
her  child.  She  was  sure  that  somehow  it  was  all  com 
ing  out  right,  not  only  the  money  from  Clark's  Field, 
but  also  her  own  troubled  life,  although  she  could 
not  see  the  precise  steps  to  be  taken.  As  usual  her 

432 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

destiny,  after  leading  her  by  many  devious  routes, 
brought  her  to  the  one  door  where  she  might  obtain 
light.  .  .  . 

"Tell  me,"  said  her  host  in  his  courteous  tones, 
"about  your  California  —  I  have  always  wanted  to 
go  there  some  day." 


XLVII 

WHEN  Adelle  descended  from  her  room  to  the  hotel 
parlor  to  meet  her  cousin  on  his  arrival,  she  was  con 
scious  of  trepidation.  However  the  matter  might 
turn  out  in  the  end,  she  must  now  give  the  young 
mason  a  first  disappointment,  and  she  was  keenly 
aware  of  what  that  might  be  to  him  after  dreaming 
his  dream  all  these  weeks  of  freedom  and  power  that 
was  unexpectedly  to  be  his.  She  did  not  like  to  dis 
appoint  him,  even  temporarily,  and  she  also  felt 
somewhat  foolish  because  she  had  so  confidently  as 
sumed  that  it  would  be  a  simple  matter  to  set  the 
Clark  inheritance  right. 

The  stone  mason  was  sitting  cornerwise  on  his 
chair  in  the  hotel  room,  twirling  on  his  thumb  a  new 
"Stetson"  hat  that  he  had  purchased  as  part  of  his 
holiday  equipment.  There  was  nothing  especially 
bizarre  in  the  costume  that  Tom  Clark  had  chosen. 
Democracy  has  eradicated  almost  everything  in 
dividual  or  picturesque  in  man's  attire.  The  stand 
ard  equipment  may  be  had  in  every  town  in  the 
land.  There  remains  merely  the  fine  distinction  of 
being  well  dressed  against  being  badly  dressed,  and 
Clark  was  badly  dressed,  as  any  experienced  eye 
such  as  Adelle's  could  see  at  a  glance.  Nothing  he 
had  on  fitted  him  or  became  him.  A  very  red  neck 

434 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

and  face  emerged  from  a  high  white  collar,  and  those 
muscular  arms  that  Adelle  had  always  admired  for 
their  color  of  copper  bronze  and  their  free,  graceful 
action,  now  merely  prodded  out  the  stiff  folds  of  his 
readymade  suit.  His  muscles  seemed  to  resent  their 
confinement  in  good  clothes  and  played  tricks  like 
a  naughty  boy. 

Adelle,  perceiving  him  in  his  corner  as  soon  as  she 
entered  the  room,  realized  at  once  that  he  was  out 
of  place.  It  seemed  that  there  were  people,  men  as 
well  as  women,  who  were  born  to  wear  fine  clothes 
and  to  acquire  all  the  habits  that  went  with  them. 
For  the  past  ten  years  these  were  the  people  she  had 
associated  with  almost  exclusively,  people  who  could 
be  known  by  their  clothes.  The  stone  mason  be 
longed  to  that  large  fringe  of  the  social  world  who 
must  be  known  by  something  else.  Adelle  had  re 
cently  perceived  that  there  was  another,  small  class 
of  people  like  Judge  Orcutt  who  could  be  known 
both  by  their  clothes  and  by  something  finer  than 
the  clothes  which  they  wore.  Tom  Clark  could  never 
become  one  of  these. 

But  as  soon  as  Adelle  was  seated  near  her  cousin 
and  talking  to  him,  she  forgot  his  defects  of  appear 
ance  —  his  red  neck  and  great  paws  and  clumsy  pos 
ture.  She  felt  once  more  the  man  —  the  man  she 
had  come  to  respect  and  like,  who  had  an  individu 
ality  quite  independent  of  clothes  and  culture.  After 
the  first  greetings  Adelle  was  silent,  and  it  was  the 
mason  himself  who  asked  her  bluntly,  — 

435 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"Well,  what  did  the  bank  say?  I  guess  it  sur 
prised  'em  some,  did  n't  it?" 

Then  Adelle  was  obliged  to  tell  him  of  her  fruit 
less  expedition  to  the  Washington  Trust  Company. 

"So  they  turned  us  down  hard!"  Clark  com 
mented,  with  a  slight  contraction  of  his  eyebrows. 
"The  stiffs!" 

Already  a  sardonic  grin  was  loosening  the  corners 
of  his  compressed  lips.  Life  had  in  fact  jested  with 
him  too  often  and  too  bitterly  for  him  to  trust  its 
promises  completely.  He  had  no  real  confidence  in 
Fortune's  smiles. 

"It  does  n't  seem  right,"  Adelle  hastened  to  say. 
"But  I  am  afraid  what  they  said  must  be  so,  for 
Judge  Orcutt  told  me  it  was  the  law." 

"And  who  is  your  Judge  Orcutt?"  the  mason  de 
manded  suspiciously. 

For  an  instant  he  seemed  to  doubt  Adelle's  good 
faith,  believed  that  she  was  trying  to  "double- 
cross"  him  as  he  would  express  it,  having  had  time 
since  they  parted  to  realize  that  it  was  not  for  her 
own  interest  to  admit  the  claims  of  the  senior  branch 
of  the  Clarks.  But  he  could  not  have  kept  his  sus 
picion  long,  for  Adelle's  honest,  troubled  eyes  were 
plain  proof  of  her  concern  for  him. 

"Judge  Orcutt,"  she  explained,  "was  the  probate 
judge  who  had  charge  of  the  estate  when  my  uncle 
died.  He  made  the  trust  company  my  guardian  then. 
I  went  to  see  him  yesterday,  and  had  a  long  talk 
with  him  about  it  all.  I  want  you  to  see  him, 

436 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

too; — can't   you   go  to  his   house  with  me  this 
morning?" 

"Why  should  I  see  the  judge? "  the  mason  de 
manded. 

"He  can  make  you  understand  better  than  I  can 
the  reasons  why  all  the  titles  can't  be  disturbed. 
And  there  may  be  a  way,  another  way  of  doing  what 
we  want,"  Adelle  added  hesitantly,  with  some  con-  , 
fusion. 

The  mason  looked  at  her  closely,  but  he  seemed 
to  have  no  more  suspicion  than  Adelle  herself  had 
had  at  first  of  what  this  way  was.  He  said,  — 

"Well,  I've  got  no  particular  objection  to  seeing 
the  judge.  There 's  plenty  of  time  —  ain't  much  else 
for  me  to  do  in  these  parts,  now  I  'm  here." 

With  another  sardonic  laugh  for  his  dashed  hopes, 
he  rose  jerkily,  as  if  he  was  ready  to  go  anywhere  at 
once. 

"  It's  rather  early  yet,"  Adelle  remarked,  consult 
ing  her  watch.  "We  had  better  wait  a  little  while 
before  going  to  the  judge." 

The  young  man  reseated  himself  and  looked  about 
idly  at  the  rich  ornamentation  of  the  hotel  room. 

"Some  class  this,"  he  observed,  concerning  the 
Eclair  Hotel,  which  was  precisely  what  the  hotel 
management  wanted  its  patrons  to  feel. 

"  Did  you  see  your  sister  in  Philadelphia?"  Adelle 
asked. 

"Yep,"  he  replied  non-committally.  Evidently 
his  tour  of  the  family  had  not  begun  favorably,  and 

437 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Adelle  refrained  from  pressing  the  questions  she  had 
in  mind. 

11  You  have  some  first  cousins,  too,  have  n't  you?" 
Adelle  asked,  remembering  the  judge's  inquiry. 

"A  whole  bunch  of  'em!"  the  mason  laughed. 
"Father  had  two  brothers  and  one  sister,  and  all  of 
'em  had  big  families,  and  my  mother  had  a  lot  of 
nephews  and  nieces,  but  they  don't  count  for  the 
inheritance." 

In  contrast  with  the  Alton  Clarks,  of  whom  Adelle 
was  the  sole  survivor,  the  California  branch  of  the 
family  had  been  prolific.  Adelle  realized  that  as  the 
judge  had  pointed  out  to  her,  it  was  not  simply  a 
question  of  endowing  one  intelligent,  interesting 
young  man  with  a  half  of  Clark's  Field,  but  of  par 
celing  it  out  in  small  lots  to  a  numerous  family  con 
nection  —  a  much  less  pleasant  deed. 

"Do  you  know  these  Clark  cousins?"  she  asked. 

"Some  of  'em,"  the  mason  said.  "They  don't 
amount  to  much,  the  lot  of  'em.  There's  only  one 
made  any  stir  in  the  world,  that's  Stan  Clark,  my 
uncle  Samuel's  son.  He's  in  the  California  Legisla 
ture,"  he  said  with  a  certain  pride.  "And  they  tell 
me  he 's  as  much  of  a  crook  as  they  make  'em !  Then 
there 's  a  brother  of  Stan  —  Sol  Clark.  He  runs  a 
newspaper  up  in  Fresno  County,  and  I  guess  he's 
another  little  crook.  There 's  a  bunch  of  Clarks  down 
in  Los  Angeles,  in  the  fruit  commission  business  — 
I  don't  know  nothing  about  them.  Oh,  there's 
Clarks  enough  of  our  sort!"  he  concluded  grimly. 

438 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Adelle  could  see  that  the  stone  mason  had  very 
slight  intercourse  with  any  of  his  cousins.  Like 
most  working-people  he  was  necessarily  limited  in 
his  social  relations  to  his  immediate  neighbors,  the 
relatives  he  could  get  at  easily  in  his  free  hours  — 
holidays  and  Sundays  and  after  his  eight  hours  of 
work  was  done.  The  mason's  hands  were  not  formed 
for  much  penmanship !  Adelle  also  realized  that  the 
stone  mason,  like  more  prosperous  people,  did  not 
love  the  members  of  his  family  just  because  they 
were  Clarks.  There  was  no  close  family  bond  of  any 
sort.  The  mason  knew  less  about  his  immediate  rel 
atives  than  he  did  about  many  other  people  in  the 
world,  and  felt  less  close  to  them;  and  of  course  she 
knew  them  not  even  by  name.  She  felt  no  great  in 
centive  to  bequeath  small  portions  of  Clark's  Field 
to  these  unknown  little  people  who  happened  to 
bear  the  name  of  Clark  —  now  that  the  law  no 
longer  demanded  a  distribution  of  the  estate,  in  fact 
prohibited  it! 

Thus  Adelle  realized  the  absurdity  of  the  family  in 
heritance  scheme  by  which  property  is  preserved  for 
the  use  of  blood  descendants  of  its  owner,  irrespec 
tive  of  their  fitness  to  use  it.  She  saw  that  inheri 
tance  was  a  mere  survival  of  an  archaic  system  of 
tribal  bond,  which  society,  through  its  customary 
inertia  and  timidity  and  general  dislike  for  change, 
had  preserved,  —  indeed,  had  made  infinitely  com 
plex  and  precise  by  a  code  of  property  laws.  She  sat 
back  in  her  chair,  silent,  puzzled  and  baffled  by  the 

439 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

situation.  The  only  way,  it  seemed,  in  which  she 
could  give  the  stone  mason  his  share  of  his  grand 
father's  property  was  by  stripping  herself  of  all  her 
possessions  for  the  tribe  of  California  Clarks,  which 
she  felt  no  inclination  to  do. 

Her  cousin,  apparently,  had  been  following  the 
same  course  of  reflection  in  part.  He  observed  dis 
passionately,  — 

"I  don't  know  much  about  'em,  and  you  don't 
know  anything  at  all,  of  course.  Mos'  likely  they're 
no  better  and  no  worse  than  any  average  bunch  of 
human  beings.  It's  curious  to  think  that  if  grand 
father  had  kept  his  folks  back  East  informed  of  his 
post-office  address,  all  these  Clarks  big  and  little 
would  have  come  in  for  a  slice  of  the  pie!" 

"It  might  not  have  been  such  a  big  pie,  then," 
Adelle  remarked. 

She  remembered  quite  well  what  the  judge  had 
said  about  the  accumulation  of  her  fortune.  It  was 
just  because  these  California  Clarks  had  been  lost 
to  sight  that  there  was  any  "  pie  "  at  all.  If  Edward 
'  S.  had  left  his  post-office  address,  there  was  no  doubt 
that  long  before  this  Clark's  Field  would  have  been 
eaten  up :  there  would  have  been  no  Adelle  Clark  — 
and  no  book  about  her  and  Clark's  Field! 

The  mason  tossed  his  hat  in  the  air  and  caught 
it  dexterously  on  the  point  of  his  thumb.  He 
mused,  — 

"All  the  same  they'd  open  their  eyes  some,  I 
guess,  if  they  knew  what  we  know.  My,  would  n't 

440 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

it  make  'em  mad  to  think  how  near  they'd  come 
to  some  easy  money!" 

He  laughed  with  relish  at  the  ironical  humor  of 
the  situation  —  the  picture  of  the  California  Clarks 
running  hungrily  with  outstretched  hands  to  grab 
their  piece  of  Clark's  Field.  And  he  laughed  with  a 
bitter  perception  of  the  underlying  farce  of  human 
society.  It  was  his  ironic  sense  of  the  accidental  ele- 
ment  in  life,  especially  in  relation  to  property  own 
ership  and  class  distinctions,  based  on  property  pos 
session,  that  made  him  an  incipient  anarchist,  such 
as  he  had  described  himself  to  Adelle.  He  was  far 
too  intelligent  to  believe  what  the  Sunday  School 
taught,  and  the  average  American  thinks  he  believes, 
that  property  and  position  in  this  world  are  appor 
tioned  by  desert  of  one  sort  or  another.  He  knew 
in  the  radius  of  his  own  circumscribed  life  too  many 
instances  where  privilege  was  based  on  nothing 
more  real  than  Adelle's  claim  to  Clark's  Field.  In 
the  hasty  fashion  of  his  nature  he  concluded  intoler 
antly  that  all  personal  privilege  was  rotten,  and 
hated  —  or  thought  he  did  —  all  those  ''grafters" 
who  enjoyed  what  Fate  had  not  been  kind  enough 
to  give  him.  Adelle  disliked  his  ironical  laughter, 
for  without  knowing  it  she  was  groping  towards  a 
sounder  belief  about  life  than  the  anarchist's,  and 
she  felt  sorry  for  her  mistake  in  arousing  false  ex 
pectations  in  her  cousin,  because  in  the  end  it  might 
make  him  all  the  harder,  confirm  him  in  his  revolt 
against  life.  No,  she  must  find  some  way  out,  so  that 

441 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

a  part  of  her  unearned  fortune  could  be  of  real  bene 
fit  to  him. 

"Tell  me  again,"  Clark  demanded  moodily,  "just 
what  those  banker  stiffs  said  about  the  title?  When 
was  it  finally  fixed  up  so  as  to  shut  us  out?" 

"  I  don't  know  just  when,  but  I  suppose  some  time 
before  I  came  of  age.  It  must  have  been  between 
the  time  my  aunt  and  I  first  went  to  see  them  and 
my  twenty-first  birthday." 

Clark  made  a  rapid  calculation. 

"That  was  about  the  time  father  died  and  mother 
and  we  kids  were  try  in'  to  live  on  nothin'.  The 
money  would  have  come  in  mighty  handy  then,  let 
me  tell  you!  .  .  .  Well,  I  suppose  the  lawyers 
know  what  they're  about." 

"  I  suppose  they  do,"  Adelle  admitted  reluctantly. 

"  I  guess  they  don't  want  no  more  fuss  with 
Clark's  Field  —  after  they ' ve  got  the  thing  all  trow 
eled  out  fine  and  smooth." 

Adelle  felt  the  cynicism  in  his  voice,  and  keenly 
realized  that  it  was  for  her  benefit  that  the  "trowel 
ing"  had  been  skillfully  performed. 

"That's  gone  into  the  discard!"  the  mason  ex 
claimed  finally,  jumping  up  and  whistling  softly. 

He  had  that  look  in  his  blue  eyes  that  Adelle 
recognized  —  the  dangerous  glint.  If  she  were  not 
there  or  if  she  had  been  a  man,  he  would  have  found 
the  shortest  path  to  a  drink,  then  taken  another, 
and  probably  many  others.  Very  likely  that  was 
what  he  meant  to  do  to-night,  but  at  least  she  would 

442 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

keep  him  for  dinner  and  make  him  take  her  to  the 
theater  for  which  she  had  already  procured  seats. 
Adelle  did  not  censure  him  for  drinking,  not  as  she 
had  censured  Archie,  because  she  felt  that  he  drank 
in  a  different  spirit,  as  an  outlet  for  his  realization 
of  the  sardonic  inadequacy  of  life,  not  as  a  mere 
sensual  indulgence.  If  the  keen  spirit  of  the  man 
were  satisfied  with  work,  he  would  never  drink  at 
all,  she  was  sure. 

"  I  think  we  can  go  over  to  the  judge's  now,"  she 
said,  observing  his  restlessness. 

The  two  crossed  the  few  blocks  of  city  streets  to 
the  quiet  corner  on  the  hill  behind  the  court-house 
where  Judge  Orcutt  lived.  The  east  wind  had  blown 
itself  out  the  night  before,  and  a  beautiful  May  morn 
ing  filled  even  the  city  with  the  spirit  of  spring. 

They  found  the  old  judge  up  and  about  his  study, 
quite  lively  and  full  of  cordial  welcome.  He  glanced 
keenly  at  the  young  mason,  who  lingered  awkwardly, 
scowling,  beside  the  door. 

"Come  in,  do!  .  .  .  It's  too  fine  a  day  for  in 
doors,  is  n't  it?  I've  ordered  a  carriage,"  he  said 
almost  at  once,  "and  I  want  you  both  to  take  a 
drive  with  me." 


XLVIII 

SINCE  Adelle's  visit  Judge  Orcutt  had  given  some 
hours  of  profound  reflection  to  Clark's  Field,  for  the 
second  time  in  his  life.  Not  to  the  legal  problem  sug 
gested  by  the  young  woman's  desire  to  upset  the  dis 
position  of  her  property.  That  he  had  answered  in 
the  only  way  he  could,  firmly  and  decisively.  Un 
scrupulous  lawyers  might  hold  out  delusive  hopes  to 
these  newly  found  heirs  if  they  should  fall  into  their 
clutches;  but  the  probate  judge  knew  the  law  of  the 
land  and  the  temper  of  the  courts  on  this  familiar 
topic.  No,  his  attention  had  been  given  to  Adelle 
herself  and  to  her  request  for  his  advice  upon  what 
she  should  do  with  the  property  that  had  been  given 
her  in  the  due  process  of  the  law.  He  realized  that 
he  was  called  upon  to  advise  again  crucially  in  re 
gard  to  Clark's  Field.  For  he  recognized  Adelle's 
earnestness  of  purpose  and  her  pathetically  groping 
desire  for  light  upon  life. 

He  had  already  reversed  that  decision  about  her, 
given  when  Adelle  upon  her  majority  appeared  in 
his  court  and  he  had  had  occasion  to  lecture  her  about 
the  nature  of  the  fortune  he  was  handing  over  to  her. 
Then  his  harsh  tone  had  been  due  to  a  sense  of  fu 
tility  in  having  been  at  great  pains  to  preserve  for 
this  foolishly  dressed  and  apparently  empty-headed 

444 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

young  woman  a  very  great  property.  To  him  had 
come  then  acutely  the  disheartening  realization  of  the 
underlying  irony  of  life,  when  such  power  and  privi 
lege  could  be  put  into  such  futile  hands.  And  he  — 
the  conscientious  judge  —  had  been  the  instrument 
of  the  law  in  perpetrating  this  bitter  jest  upon  jus 
tice.  But  now  he  felt  that  Adelle  might  justify  her 
good  fortune.  For  it  seemed  that  her  riches  after 
poisoning  her  had  already  begun  to  work  their  own 
cure.  She  wanted  to  rid  herself  of  them.  That  was 
a  good  sign. 

Not  that  he  sympathized  in  her  crude  plan  of 
endowing  these  unknown  Clark  cousins  with  a  lot 
of  her  money.  He  was  glad  that,  at  any  rate,  the  law 
put  a  stop  to  further  litigation  over  Clark's  Field. 
If  she  wanted  to  distribute  her  estate  to  them  she 
could,  of  course.  But  in  all  probability  it  would  do 
them  little  good,  and  it  might  do  a  great  deal  of 
harm.  He  was  interested  in  Adelle,  in  her  develop 
ment  and  her  being,  much  more  than  in  the  Clark 
money.  What  would  be  best  for  her  ultimately?  If 
he  had  been  a  conventionally  minded  old  gentleman, 
he  would  have  urged  her  to  bestow  her  money  pru 
dently  upon  safe  charities  —  perhaps  create  a  special 
philanthropic  trust  for  the  distribution  of  Clark's 
Field,  after  her  death,  of  course,  for  the  good  of 
education,  or  hospitals,  or  art  —  the  ordinary  chan 
nels  chosen  by  those  rich  persons  who  cared  to  alien 
ate  from  themselves  and  their  heirs  a  portion  of  their 
property.  But  the  judge,  fortunately,  was  not  con- 

445 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

ventionally  minded,  although  he  had  sat  upon  the 
bench  for  upwards  of  forty  years.  He  knew  that 
philanthropy  was  a  very  wasteful  and  mechanical 
method  of  attaining  an  end,  and  often  did  great  harm 
to  everybody,  because  such  a  little  charity  made 
such  an  immense  amount  of  social  salve.  He  did  not 
believe  that "  philanthropy  "  would  appeal  in  its  com 
mon  forms  to  Adelle,  certainly  not  deathbed  giving. 

She  had  been  through  some  terrible  experiences, 
that  was  evident,  and  was  still  more  shaken  by  them 
than  she  knew.  But  she  was  young,  with  a  long  life 
presumably  to  lead,  and  other  children  and  loves 
and  interests  to  blossom  in  it.  Would  it  not  be  wise 
for  her  to  retain  her  property,  now  that  she  had 
learned  something  of  the  nature  of  money,  and  en 
deavor  by  herself  to  use  Clark's  Field  wisely?  It 
was  here  that  the  judge's  musings  brought  up.  He 
was  inclined  to  have  faith  in  Adelle  as  a  person  for 
the  first  time. 

We  can  see  how  far  from  the  anarchist  his  phil 
osophy  of  life  led  him.  The  accidents  of  life  —  yes, 
but  mysterious,  not  merely  ironic  and  meaningless, 
accidents !  Adelle  Clark,  the  unpromising  little  girl, 
the  loud,  silly  young  married  woman,  was  the  in 
strument  chosen  by  Fate  —  only  the  judge  said  God 
—  sharpened  by  pain  and  sorrow  to  become  the  in 
telligent  destiny  of  Clark's  Field.  Could  the  law 
with  all  its  hedging  and  guarding  beat  that?  Could 
the  stone  mason  or  the  judge  himself  or  any  human 
mind  select  a  better  executor  for  Clark's  Field  than 

446 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

the  unlikely  instrument  which  Fate  had  chosen? 
The  judge  thought  not,  and  with  his  own  little  plan 
in  mind  serenely  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  Clark 
cousins  on  this  joyous  May  morning,  having  previ 
ously  ordered  the  horses  and  carriage  that  he  com 
monly  used  for  his  outings. 

Adelle  sat  beside  the  judge  in  the  old-fashioned 
brougham,  and  the  stone  mason  opposite  to  them, 
his  great  brown  hands  bedded  on  his  knees,  his  face 
critically  examining  the  city  landscape.  The  judge 
talked  chiefly  to  the  young  man,  in  his  humorous 
and  rather  garrulous  manner,  describing  for  his  bene 
fit  the  glories  of  the  old  city.  They  plunged  almost 
at  once  off  the  hill  into  a  slum,  where  in  the  tall 
brick  tenements  women  were  hanging  out  of  the 
windows  enjoying  the  spring  day.  The  sunshine  and 
the  blue  sky  made  the  narrow,  dirty  streets,  and  the 
evil-looking  buildings  even  more  out  of  place  than 
usual.  The  young  Calif ornian  wrinkled  his  mouth 
scornfully  over  it.  But  soon  they  drove  out  upon  a 
new  bridge  that  bound  the  two  parts  of  the  city  to 
gether  where  the  breeze  came  in  across  the  water 
gayly.  The  mason  was  specially  pleased  with  the 
tunnel  through  which  the  surface  cars  disappeared 
into  the  bowels  of  the  city.  That  was  some  good,  he 
said,  and  added  that  they  did  not  have  it  in  Cali 
fornia.  "  But  we  don't  need  it  yet  —  we  are  n't  so 
crowded  out  there,"  he  explained.  He  did  not  think 
much  of  the  tall  buildings  they  encountered  on  their 

447 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

route.  They  had  better  ones  in  "  'Frisco,"  and  had 
he  not  seen  New  York?  His  attitude  towards  this 
home  of  his  forefathers  was  mildly  tolerant.  If 
the  issue  had  been  put  to  him  squarely,  he  would 
never  have  exchanged  his  free  California  inheritance 
for  his  share  of  Clark's  Field !  He  seemed  to  think 
better  of  his  grandfather  for  having  shaken  the  dust 
of  Alton  from  his  scornful  feet.  That  was  exactly 
what  he  himself  would  have  done  if  it  had  been  his 
misfortune  to  belong  to  the  younger  branch  of  the 
family.  But  in  that  case,  perhaps,  he  would  not 
have  had  the  courage  to  brave  the  unknown! 

Adelle  from  her 'corner  of  the  carriage  silently 
followed  this  in  her  cousin's  expressive  face.  She 
saw  that  it  all  seemed  small  to  him,  petty,  planned 
on  a  little  scale. 

"Give  me  the  Coast!"  he  said  when  at  last  they 
reached  the  famous  Square  of  Alton,  which  was  now 
little  more  than  the  intersection  of  three  noisy 
streets,  and  turned  up  the  old  South  Road.  That 
simple  expression  meant  volumes  as  she  knew.  It 
expressed  the  love  of  freedom,  vigor,  simplicity, 
natural  manhood,  the  longing  for  the  large,  fresh 
face  of  Nature,  where  the  hopeful  soul  of  man  is 
ready  to  meet  his  destiny  by  himself,  unpropped  by 
his  ancestors  and  relatives.  There  was  an  echo  in 
her  own  soul  to  this  primitive  lyric  cry,  —  "Give 
me  the  Coast!" 

(Need  we  explain  that  to  the  true  son  of  California 
there  is  but  one  "Coast"  in  all  the  world?) 

448 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

The  old  judge  smiled  sympathetically  in  response 
to  the  cry.  Evidently  he  liked  the  young  man,  for 
he  was  at  great  pains  to  point  out  to  him  everything 
of  interest  and  to  explain  certain  historic  monuments 
that  they  passed. 

Alton  had  never  been  notable  as  a  place  of  resi 
dence  even  in  Adelle's  childhood,  but  now  it  was  al 
most  completely  converted  to  industrial  uses.  The 
stove  factory  had  grown  like  a  tropic  plant,  and  had 
spawned  about  itself  a  number  of  parasitic  indus 
tries,  such  as  tack-mills,  paper-box  factories,  and 
other  occupations  that  use  the  labor  of  women  and 
children.  It  was  one  long,  smoky,  grimy  thorough 
fare,  where  in  a  small,  congested  area  the  coarser 
labors  of  humanity  were  performed  wholesale  by  a 
race  of  imported  gnomes,  such  as  might  be  found  in 
any  of  the  larger  centers  of  the  country.  Alton  was 
not  one  of  the  "  show  places,"  and  it  may  be  wondered 
why  the  judge  had  chosen  to  drive  his  guests  thither 
instead  of  to  the  famous  parks  of  the  city. 

But  Adelle  suspected  something  of  his  purpose, 
and  more  when  they  turned  into  that  brick  maze  of 
small  streets  that  had  once  been  Clark's  Field.  At 
this  the  Californian's  mobile  face  expressed  frank 
contempt,  not  to  say  disgust.  Even  on  this  beauti 
ful  May  morning,  Clark's  Field,  with  its  close-packed 
rows  of  lofty  tenements,  its  narrow,  dirty  alleys, 
and  monotonous  blocks  of  ugly  brick  fagades,  was 
dreary,  depressing,  a  needless  monstrosity  of  civili 
zation.  And  all  this  had  come  about  in  a  little  over 

449 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

ten  years,  as  the  judge  carefully  explained  to  the 
mason.  It  had  taken  less  than  a  generation  to  cover 
Clark's  Field  with  its  load  of  brick  and  mortar,  to 
make  it  into  a  swarming  hive  of  mean  human  lives 
—  a  triumph  of  our  day,  so  often  boastfully  cele 
brated  in  newspaper  and  magazine,  the  triumph  of 
efficient  property  exploitation  by  the  Washington 
Trust  Company  under  the  thin  disguise  of  the 
"Clark's  Field  Associates"! 

The  judge  was  indefatigable  in  his  determination 
to  penetrate  to  every  dreary  corner,  every  noisome 
alley  of  the  place,  although  the  young  stranger 
seemed  to  think  that  he  had  had  enough  at  the  first 
glance.  It  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  make  the  rounds 
of  the  Field  for  the  third  time  with  the  little  party. 
Adelle,  who  had  a  greater  interest  than  her  cousin 
because  of  her  dim  understanding  of  the  judge's  pur 
pose,  gazed  searchingly  at  everything,  and  was  able 
to  see  it  differently,  to  comprehend  it  all  as  she  had 
not  been  able  to  the  time  before  when  she  had  forced 
Archie  to  make  the  expedition  with  her.  She  realized 
now,  at  least  in  part,  what  Clark's  Field  really  meant, 
what  the  magic  lamp  she  had  so  carelessly  rubbed 
for  years  to  gratify  her  desires  was  made  of.  And  it 
made  her  thoughtful. 

About  noon,  when  the  little  streets  were  flooded 
from  curb  to  curb  by  a  motley  army  of  pale-faced 
foreign  workers  from  the  high  lofts  and  the  noisy 
factories,  the  judge's  carriage  drew  up  beside  a  va 
cant  corner,  the  one  large  undeveloped  bit  of  land 

450 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

still  left,  nearly  in  the  center  of  the  whole  tract.  This 
was  plastered  with  the  signs  of  the  realty  company, 
seductively  offering  to  lease  it  for  a  term  of  years  or 
improve  it  with  a  building  to  suit  tenant,  etc. 

"  About  all  the  open  space  and  blue  sky  there  is 
left!"  the  judge  remarked,  pointing  out  the  figures 
of  a  few  dirty  children  who  were  exploring  a  puddle 
and  a  pit  of  rubbish  in  the  vacant  lot.  (These,  I  sup 
pose,  were  the  descendants  of  that  brave  body  of 
little  hoodlums  of  which  I  and  my  brothers  were 
members  years  ago,  and  the  puddle  and  pit  were  all 
that  was  left  of  our  mysterious  playground !) 

"There's  a  heap  of  cheap  foreign  rubbish  all 
around  here,"  the  mason  growled,  spitting  con 
temptuously  into  the  roadbed,  as  if  he  resented 
that  human  beings  could  be  found  forlorn  enough, 
low  enough,  to  labor  under  such  conditions.  "Not 
one  of  'em  looks  as  if  he  had  had  enough  to  eat  or 
knew  what  a  good  wash  was  or  what  the  earth 
smells  like!" 

No,  the  Coast  for  him,  and  the  sooner  the  better, 
too! 

The  judge  smiled  tolerantly,  observing,  — 

"  I  don't  suppose  they  have  much  chance  to  bathe 
here.  The  city  cannot  afford  to  put  up  public  baths 
and  employers  rarely  think  of  those  things." 

"Look  at  the  rotten  stuff  they  eat!"  The  mason 
pointed  disdainfully  to  the  tipcarts  drawn  up  along 
the  curb,  where  men  and  women  were  chaffering 
over  dried  fish  and  forlorn  vegetables  that  would 

45i 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

have  soured  the  soul  of  old  Adams,  who  once  raised 
celery  on  this  very  spot.  "  Don't  the  folks  in  these 
parts  eat  better  than  that?" 

"  Not  generally,"  the  judge  replied.  "  We  have  no 
public  market  in  this  city,  and  it  is  very  difficult  for 
the  poorer  sort  to  get  fresh  food." 

"You'd  oughter  see  the  California  markets!"  the 
young  man  bragged. 

"Tell  me  about  them,"  the  judge  said. 

And  while  the  young  mason  expatiated  on  his 
land  of  plenty  where  the  poor  man  could  still  enjoy 
his  own  bit  of  God's  sunlight  and  fresh  fruit  and 
flowers  from  the  earth,  Adelle  watched  the  thick 
stream  of  workers  in  Clark's  Field,  pushing  and 
dawdling  along  the  narrow  street.  There  were  girls 
with  bare  arms  and  soiled  shirt-waists  and  black 
skirts,  there  were  lean,  pale  boys,  and  women  old 
before  their  time,  hurrying  from  tenement  to  shop, 
their  hearts  divided  between  the  two  cares  of  home 
and  livelihood.  Adelle  recalled  one  of  her  first  talks 
with  the  stone  mason,  in  which  he  had  crudely  told 
her  that  her  yearly  income  represented  the  total 
wages  of  four  or  five  hundred  able-bodied  men  and 
women,  such  as  these,  who  worked  from  ten  to  six 
teen  hours  a  day  for  three  hundred  days  each  year, 
when  they  could,  and  all  told  earned  hardly  what  she 
drew  by  signing  her  name  to  slips  of  paper  as  income 
from  her  property  during  the  same  space  of  time. 
He  said  to  her,  —  "You  can  think  that  you  are  worth 
about  four  hundred  human  lives !  Who  talks  about 

452 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

slavery  being  abolished?  Hell!"  She  had  thought 
then  that  his  way  of  putting  it  was  quite  wrong,  un 
just:  she  was  sure  that  Major  Pound  could  easily 
have  disposed  of  his  contention.  Indeed,  she  had 
heard  the  major  and  men  like  him  maintain  that 
capitalists  like  herself  were  the  only  true  benefactors 
of  humanity,  that  without  them  the  working-people 
could  never  be  fed !  But  to-day  she  was  not  sure  that 
her  cousin  had  been  wrong.  She  saw  a  concrete 
proof  of  his  statement  in  this  stream  of  poorly  nour 
ished,  hard-worked  men,  women,  boys,  and  girls, 
all  toiling  to  maintain  themselves  and  pay  her  the 
interest  upon  the  crowded  land  of  Clark's  Field.  In 
a  very  definite  sense  they  were  all  working  for  her; 
they  were  her  slaves! 

The  younger  women  and  girls  looked  into  the 
judge's  brougham  curiously  or  impudently,  attracted 
by  the  spectacle  of  leisure  and  quiet  richness  that 
Adelle  presented,  a  sight  not  commonly  afforded 
them  in  the  streets  of  Clark's  Field  and  always  fas 
cinating  to  women  of  any  class  wherever  it  may  be. 
Adelle's  dress  was  plain  black,  and  she  had  shed 
much  of  her  jewelry;  but  beneath  her  simple  gown 
and  fine  linen  and  carefully  cherished  skin  she  began 
to  feel  a  new  sensation,  not  exactly  pity  for  these  less 
lucky  sisters,  rather  wonder  that  it  should  all  be  so, 
that  she  should  be  sitting  there  in  idleness  and  com 
fort  and  they  should  be  tramping  the  pavement  of 
Clark's  Field  to  the  factory.  .  .  . 

When  she  saw  the  boys  playing  in  the  mud  pud- 
453 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

die  in  the  one  vacant  lot,  she  thought  of  her  own 
little  boy,  on  whom  she  had  lavished  every  care, 
every  luxury.  So  with  these  working-girls,  she 
thought  how  easily  she  might  have  been  one  of 
them  going  from  the  rooming-house  in  Church  Street 
to  shop  or  factory,  as  many  women  of  better  Puritan 
families  than  hers  had  done.  It  was  pure  accident, 
she  could  see,  why  she  and  her  child  had  been  saved 
from  such  a  lot  —  due  neither  to  her  own  ability  nor 
that  of  any  of  her  Clark  forbears !  It  was  a  humbling 
perception. 

" Hell ! "  her  cousin  was  saying  explosively,  "these 
people  are  no  better  'n  cattle.  At  least  they  ought 
to  give  'em  a  trough  to  wash  in  and  a  place  where 
they  could  buy  decent  food." 

"A  few  other  things,  too,  perhaps,"  the  judge 
added  with  his  gentle  smile.  "But  who  will  do  it? 
The  city  is  already  badly  debt-ridden.  The  owners 
of  the  land  pay  so  much  in  taxes  and  interest,  due 
to  the  high  price  of  the  land  here,  that  they  prob 
ably  make  a  bare  eight  per  cent  net  on  their  invest 
ment." 

He  looked  inquiringly  at  the  young  man. 

"It's  all  wrong,"  the  mason  retorted  heatedly,  for 
getting  that  he  had  hoped  to  become  one  of  these 
"owners  of  the  land,"  and  returning  to  his  incipient 
rebellion  at  the  state  of  society  in  which  he  lived. 
"Somebody  ought  to  be  made  to  do  such  things." 

The  judge  smiled  finely,  merely  remarking  in  a 
casual  tone,  — 

454 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"It  is  a  very  perplexing  question,  all  that,  my 
young  friend!" 

"But  you  don't  think  it's  right  so,"  the  mason 
persisted  belligerently,  thinking  to  challenge  a  sup 
porter  of  things  as  they  are. 

"There's  very  little  that  is  quite  right  in  this 
world,  my  boy,"  the  judge  replied  simply. 

"Well,  we'd  better  set  out  now  to  make  it  nearer 
right,"  the  young  man  grumbled. 

"Oh,  yes,  that  is  perfectly  sound  doctrine.  .  .  . 
And  shall  we  begin  with  Clark's  Field?"  he  asked, 
turning  to  Adelle  with  one  of  his  playful,  kindly 
smiles. 

"It  needs  it,"  she  said  simply. 

"Yes,  I  think  it  needs  it!" 

"Sure!"  the  mason  asserted  resoundingly. 

A  little  while  afterwards  the  judge  said  to  the 
driver,  — 

"  I  think  that  we  will  go  home  now,  John." 


XLIX 

IN  these  last  moments  something  had  happened  to 
Adelle.  While  the  judge  and  her  cousin  had  been 
talking,  she  had  been  watching  the  stream  of  human 
ity  flow  past  her,  not  hearing  what  the  two  were 
saying,  listening  to  the  voice  of  her  own  soul.  It  is 
difficult  to  describe  in  exact  words  the  nature  of 
Adelle's  mental  life.  Ideas  never  came  to  her  in  or 
derly  succession.  They  were  not  evolved  out  of 
other  ideas,  nor  gathered  up  from  obvious  sources 
and  repeated  by  her  brain,  parrot  like,  as  with  so 
many  of  us.  They  came  to  her  slowly  from  some 
reservoir  of  her  being,  came  painfully,  strugglingly, 
and  often  were  accompanied  to  their  birth  by  an 
inner  glow  of  emotional  illumination  like  the  pres 
ent  when  she  saw  herself  and  her  child  living  the 
life  of  Clark's  Field.  But  after  they  had  struggled 
into  birth,  they  became  eternal  possessions  of  her 
consciousness,  never  to  be  forgotten,  or  debated,  or 
denied.  She  had  thus  slowly  and  painfully  achieved 
whatever  personality  she  had  since  she  came  for  the 
first  time  a  pale  child  into  Judge  Orcutt's  court.  If 
any  one  had  talked  to  her  about  the  "obligations  of 
wealth, "  ' '  social  service, "  or ' '  love  of  humanity, ' '  she 
would  have  listened  with  a  vacant  stare  and  replied 
like  a  child  of  ten.  The  judge  seemed  to  know  that. 

456 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

It  was  only  by  idleness  and  Archie  and  unhappi- 
ness  and  the  fire  and  the  tragic  death  of  her  child 
that  she  had  come  to  realize  that  there  were  other 
people  in  the  world  besides  herself  and  the  few  who 
were  a  necessary  part  of  herself,  and  that  these  other 
lives  were  of  importance  to  themselves  and  might 
be  almost  as  important  to  her  as  her  own.  It  had 
taken  Adelle  a  good  many  years  of  foolish  living  and 
reckless  use  of  her  magic  lamp  to  get  this  simple  un 
derstanding  of  life.  But  she  was  not  yet  twenty-six, 
really  at  the  start  of  life.  If  already  she  had  come 
so  far  along  the  road,  what  might  she  not  reach  by 
fifty?  In  such  matters  it  is  the  destination  alone 
that  counts.  .  .  . 

Just  now,  as  has  been  said,  a  greater  illumination 
had  come  over  her  spirit  than  was  ever  there  before, 
although  for  the  life  of  her  Adelle  could  not  have  ex 
pressed  in  words  what  she  felt,  or  at  this  time  put 
her  new  thought  into  concrete  acts.  But  with  Adelle 
acts  had  never  been  wanting  when  the  time  for  them 
came,  and  her  slow  mind  had  absorbed  all  the  neces 
sary  ideas.  The  judge  recognized  the  illumination 
in  the  young  woman  at  his  side.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  perhaps,  at  least  for  one  of  the  rare  mo 
ments  of  it,  her  face  was  in  no  sense  vacant.  The 
wide  gray  eyes  that  looked  forth  upon  the  sordid 
world  of  Clark's  Field  were  seeing  eyes,  though  they 
did  not  see  merely  physical  facts.  Instead  of  their  t 
usual  blankness  or  passive  intelligence,  they  had  a  " 
quality  in  them  now  of  dream.  And  this  gave 

457 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Adelle's  pale  face  a  certain  rare  loveliness  that  in 
human  faces  does  not  depend  upon  color  or  line 
or  emotional  vivacity.  It  is  rather  the  still  radiance 
of  the  inner  spirit,  penetrating  in  some  inexplicable 
manner  the  physical  envelope  and  creating  a  beauty 
far  more  enduring,  more  compelling  to  those  who 
perceive  it,  than  any  other  form  of  beauty  intelligi 
ble  to  human  eyes.  The  judge  perceived  it.  As  the 
carriage  slowly  retraced  its  way  through  the  crowded 
streets  of  Clark's  Field,  he  silently  took  the  young 
woman's  hand  and  held  it  within  his  own,  smiling 
gently  before  him  as  one  who  understood  what  was 
too  complex  to  put  in  words.  He  was  an  old  man 
now,  and  it  was  permitted  him  to  express  thus  the 
compulsion  of  Adelle's  rare  loveliness,  thus  to  con 
fide  to  her  the  sympathy  of  his  own  dreaming  heart. 
The  little  ungloved  hand  lay  within  his  old  hand, 
warm  and  passive,  not  clinging,  content  to  rest  there 
in  peace. 

Thus  they  jogged  back  to  the  city,  all  three  silent, 
occupied  with  personal  thoughts  suggested  by  their 
expedition  this  fine  May  morning  into  Clark's  Field, 
which  the  judge  for  one  felt  had  been  thoroughly 
successful. 

Judge  Orcutt  kept  the  two  cousins  to  luncheon, 
and  when  Adelle  had  gone  with  his  housekeeper  to 
lay  aside  her  hat  and  wraps,  he  was  left  alone  with 
the  young  stone  mason.  After  long  years  of  watch 
ing  human  beings  from  the  bench,  the  judge  formed 

458 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

his  opinions  of  people  rapidly  and  was  rarely  mis 
taken  upon  the  essential  quality  of  any  one.    He 
liked  Tom  Clark.    He  did  not  mind,  as  much  as 
Adelle  did,  his  spitting  habit,  for  he  remembered  the 
time  not  more  than  a  generation  or  two  ago  when 
the  best  American  gentlemen  chewed  tobacco  or 
took  snuff,  and  he  could  see  quality  in  a  person  who 
spat  upon  the  ground,  but  did  not  conceal  ugly  and 
vile  thoughts,  or  who  abused  the  language  of  books 
in  favor  of  that  more  enduring  vernacular  of  the 
street,  or  who  confused  the  table  implements,  or  did 
the  hundred  and  one  other  little  things  that  are  sup 
posedly  the  indelible  marks  of  an  inferior  culture. 
A  most  fastidious  person  himself,  as  was  obvious,  he 
looked  in  others  for  a  fastidiousness  of  spirit  rather 
than  for  a  correct  performance  of  the  whims  of  re 
finement.    For  the  one,  as  everybody  knows   but 
forgets,  is  eternal,  and  the  other  is  merely  transitory 
—  the  most  transitory  aspect  of  human  beings,  their 
manners.    He  was  pleased  with  Tom  Clark's  vigor 
ous  reaction  against  the  East  in  favor  of  his  own 
freer  land,  his  disgust  with  the  incipient  squalor  of 
Clark's  Field,  and  his  honest  scorn  for  a  civiliza 
tion  that  would  permit  human  beings  to  live  as  they 
lived  there  and  generally  in  the  more  crowded  in 
dustrial  centers  of  the  world.  What  the  stone  mason 
had  recklessly  vaunted  to  Adelle  as  " anarchism," 
the  judge  recognized  as  a  healthy  reaction  against 
unworthy  human  institutions,  —  the  idiom  in  him 
of  youth  and  hope  and  will.    And  he  could  under- 

459 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

stand,  now  that  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  vigor 
ous  young  man,  the  reason  why  Adelle  had  been 
drawn  to  the  stone  mason  from  that  first  time  when 
she  had  discharged  him  from  her  employ.  For  he 
had  those  qualities  of  vitality,  expression,  initiative 
that  the  younger  branch  of  the  Clarks  had  ex 
hausted.  The  Edward  S.  Clarks,  transplanted  fifty 
years  and  more  ago  to  new  soil,  may  not  have  risen 
far  in  the  human  scale  in  their  new  environment, 
but  they  had  renewed  there,  at  least  in  the  person  of 
this  young  stone  mason,  their  capacity  for  health 
and  vigor.  Once  more  they  had  strong  desires,  will, 
and  the  courage  to  revolt  against  the  settled,  the 
safe,  the  formal,  and  the  proper.  Of  course,  this 
Clark  was  an  anarchist !  All  strong  blood  must  cre 
ate  some  such  anarchists,  if  there  is  to  be  progress 
in  this  world. 

It  did  not  seem  so  preposterous  to  the  judge, 
after  these  few  hours  of  contact  with  the  mason, 
that  Adelle  should  want  to  endow  her  cousin  with  a 
part  of  that  fortune  which  but  for  accident  and 
legal  formality  would  have  been  his.  There  were, 
however,  many  other  of  these  California  Clarks,  in 
whom  Adelle  could  not  possibly  be  interested  and 
who  might  not  be  equally  promising,  but  who  would 
have  to  share  her  liberality  with  the  mason.  It  was 
a  delicate  tangle,  as  the  judge  realized  when  he  at 
tempted  to  untie  the  knot. 

"  Mr.  Clark,"  he  began,  sinking  into  the  deep  wing 
chair  before  his  fireplace,  "  I  suppose  your  cousin  has 

460 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

informed  you  of  the  results  of  her  interview  with  the 
Washington  Trust  Company?" 

"Yes!"  the  young  man  emitted  shortly,  with  an 
inquiring  grin.  "She  said  there  was  nothing  doing 
about  our  claim." 

"The  officers  of  the  trust  company  were  right  so 
far  as  the  law  is  concerned,  as  I  had  to  tell  Mrs. 
Clark.  The  law  is  doubtless  often  slow  and  bungling 
in  its  processes,  but  when  it  has  once  fully  decided 
an  issue  it  is  very  loath  to  open  it  up  again,  especially 
when,  as  in  this  case,  litigation  would  involve  hard 
ship  and  injustice  to  a  great  many  innocent  people." 

"Well,  I  somehow  thought  it  might  be  too  late," 
the  young  mason  remarked,  throwing  himself  loosely 
into  the  chair  opposite  the  judge.  After  a  moment 
of  reflection  he  added  feelingly,  —  "The  law  is  an 
infernal  contraption  anyhow  —  it 's  always  rigged 
so's  the  little  feller  gets  left." 

"The  law  rigged  it  so  that  your  cousin,  who  was 
a  penniless  girl,  got  a  thousand  times  more  than  her 
grandfather  asked  for  his  property,"  the  judge  ob 
served  with  a  twinkle. 

"She  had  the  luck,  that's  all  —  and  we  other 
Clarks  did  n't! "  the  young  man  replied. 

"You  can  call  it  luck,  if  you  like,"  the  judge 
mused. 

"That's  what  most  folks  would  call  it,  I  guess." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  what  she  feels,  because  she  was 
anxious  when  she  came  to  see  me  yesterday  to  divide 
her  fortune  with  you  other  Clarks." 

461 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

It  was  a  daring  move,  and  as  he  spoke  the  judge 
looked  keenly  into  the  young  man's  face. 

"Did  she?"  Tom  Clark  inquired  unconcernedly. 
" 1  know  she's  always  on  the  square  —  there  are  n't 
many  like  her!" 

"You  may  not  know  that  if  she  should  carry  out 
her  intention,  she  would  strip  herself  of  almost 
every  dollar  she  possesses." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Her  husband,  I  understand,  conducted  her  af 
fairs  so  badly  that  very  nearly  if  not  quite  half  the 
great  fortune  she  received  five  years  ago  from  her 
guardians  has  wasted  away.  I  don't  know  what  ul 
timately  may  be  recovered  from  these  California 
investments,  but  judging  from  what  Mrs.  Clark  tells 
me  I  should  say  almost  nothing.  So  that  there  can 
be  left  of  the  original  estate  only  a  little  over  two 
millions  of  dollars." 

"Well,  that's  enough  for  any  woman  to  worry 
along  on,"  the  mason  grinned  lightly. 

"  But  not  enough  for  her  to  pay  out  of  it  two  and  a 
half  millions,  which  would  have  been  the  share  of 
your  grandfather's  heirs." 

"Hell!     She  ain't  thinkin'  of  doin'  that!" 

"She  certainly  was.  She  would  have  made  the 
proposal  to  you  already,  if  I  had  not  asked  her  to 
wait  until  I  could  advise  with  her  again." 

The  young  man's  blue  eyes  opened  wide  in  aston 
ishment. 

"What  good  would  that  do  her?" 
462 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"It  would  give  all  of  you  California  Clarks  your 
slice  of  Clark's  Field  —  how  many  of  you  are  there? 

"I  dunno  exactly  —  maybe  twenty  or  twenty- 
five  —  I  have  n't  kep'  count." 

"Say  there  are  twenty-five  heirs  of  old  Edward  S. 
living.  Each  of  them  would  have  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars  apiece  roughly.  That  sum  of  money  is 
not  to  be  despised  even  to-day." 

"You  bet  it  ain't,"  murmured  the  mason  feel 
ingly.  His  face  settled  into  a  scowl ;  and  leaning  for 
ward  he  demanded,  —  "What  are  you  drivin'  at 
anyway,  Judge?" 

The  judge  did  not  answer. 

"You  ain't  goin'  to  let  that  woman  hand  over  all 
her  money  to  a  lot  of  little  no- 'count  people  she's 
never  laid  eyes  on,  just  because  they  are  called 
'Clark'  instead  of  'Smith'  or  some  other  name?" 

"You  happen  to  be  one  of  them,"  the  judge  ob 
served  with  a  laugh. 

"I  know  that,  —  and  I  guess  I'm  a  pretty  fair 
sample  of  the  whole  bunch,  —  but  I  ain't  takin* 
charity  from  any  woman!" 

The  judge  settled  back  into  his  chair,  a  satisfied 
little  smile  on  his  lips.  The  mason's  reaction  was 
better  than  he  had  dared  expect. 

"It  ought  not  to  be  called  charity,  exactly,"  he 
mused. 

"What  is  it,  then?     It  ain't  law!" 

"No,  it  would  n't  be  legal  either,"  the  judge  ad 
mitted.  "But  there  are  things  that  are  neither  legal 

463 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

nor  charitable.  There  are,"  he  suggested,  "  justice 
and  wisdom  and  mercy!" 

The  mason  could  not  follow  such  abstract 
thought.  He  looked  blankly  at  the  judge.  His  mind 
had  done  its  best  when  it  had  rejected  without  hesi 
tation  the  gift  of  Adelle's  fortune  because  he  hap 
pened  to  be  a  grandson  of  Edward  S.  Clark. 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  judge  after  a  time,  as  if  his 
mind  had  wandered  to  other  considerations,  "about 
these  California  Clarks  —  what  do  you  know  of 
them?" 

The  mason  related  for  the  judge's  edification  the 
scraps  of  family  history  and  biography  that  he  could 
recollect.  Adelle,  who  had  come  into  the  room,  lis 
tened  to  his  story.  Tom  Clark  might  be  limited  in 
knowledge  of  his  family  as  he  was  in  education,  but 
he  was  certainly  literal  and  picturesque.  He  spared 
neither  himself  nor  his  brothers  and  sisters,  nor  his 
remoter  cousins.  The  one  whose  career  seemed  to 
interest  him  most  was  that  Stan  Clark,  the  politi 
cian,  who  now  represented  Fresno  County  in  the 
State  Legislature.  There  was  a  curious  mixture  of 
pride  and  contempt  in  his  feeling  for  this  cousin,  who 
had  risen  above  the  dead  level  of  local  obscurity. 

"He  thinks  almighty  well  of  himself,"  he  con 
cluded  his  portrait;  "but  there  ain't  a  rottener  pea 
nut  politician  in  the  State  of  California,  and  that's 
sayin'  some.  He  got  into  the  legislater  by  stringin' 
labor,  and  now,  of  course,  the  S.  P.  owns  him  hide 
and  clothes  and  toothpick.  I  hear  he's  bought  a 

464 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

block  of  stores  in  Fresno  and  is  puttin'  the  dough 
away  thick.  He  don't  need  no  Clark's  Field!  He's 
got  the  whole  people  of  California  for  his  pickin's." 

The  judge  turned  to  Adelle  laughingly. 

"Your  cousin  does  n't  seem  to  see  any  good  rea 
son  why  the  California  Clarks  should  be  chosen  for 
Fortune's  favor." 

"  Ain't  one  of  'em,"  the  young  man  asserted  em 
phatically,  "so  far  as  I  know,  would  know  what  to 
do  with  a  hundred  dollars,  would  be  any  better  off 
after  a  couple  of  years  if  he  had  it.  That's  gospel 
truth  — and  I  ain't  exceptin'  myself!"  he  added 
after  a  moment  of  sober  reflection. 

Adelle  made  no  comment.  She  did  not  seem  to  be 
thinking  along  the  same  line  as  the  judge  and  the 
young  mason.  Since  the  yesterday  her  conception 
of  her  problem  had  changed  and  grown.  Adelle  was 
living  fast  these  days,  not  in  the  sense  in  which  she 
and  Archie  had  lived  fast  according  to  their  kind, 
but  psychologically  and  spiritually  she  was  living 
fast.  Her  state  of  yesterday  had  already  given  place 
to  another  broader,  loftier  one:  she  was  fast  escap 
ing  from  the  purely  personal  out  into  the  freedom 
of  the  impersonal. 

"Allowing  for  Mr.  Clark's  natural  vivacity  of 
statement,"  the  judge  observed  with  an  appreciative 
chuckle,  "these  California  relatives  of  yours,  so  far 
as  I  can  see,  are  pretty  much  like  everybody  else  in 
the  world,  struggling  along  the  best  they  can  with 
the  limitations  of  environment  and  character  which 

465 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

they  have  inherited.  .  .  .  And  I  am  rather  inclined 
to  agree  with  Mr.  Clark  that  it  might  be  unwise  to 
give  them,  most  of  them,  any  special  privilege  which 
they  had  n't  earned  for  themselves  over  their  neigh 
bors." 

"What  right  have  they  got  to  it  anyway?"  the 
mason  demanded. 

"Oh,  when  you  go  into  rights,  Mr.  Clark,"  the 
judge  retorted,  "the  whole  thing  is  a  hopeless  mud 
dle.  None  of  us  in  a  very  real  sense  has  any  rights 
• —  extremely  few  rights,  at  any  rate." 

"Well,  then,  they've  no  good  reason  for  havin' 
the  money." 

"I  agree  with  you.  There  is  no  good  reason  why 
these  twenty-five  Clarks,  more  or  less,  should  arbi 
trarily  be  selected  for  the  favors  of  Clark's  Field. 
And  yet  they  might  prove  to  be  as  good  material  to 
work  upon  as  any  other  twenty-five  taken  at  ran 
dom." 

Adelle  looked  up  expectantly  to  the  judge.  She 
understood  that  his  mind  was  thinking  forward  to 
wider  reaches  than  his  words  indicated. 

"  But  you  would  want  to  know  much  more  about 
them  than  you  do  now,  to  study  each  case  carefully 
in  all  its  bearings,  and  then  doubtless  you  would 
make  your  mistakes,  with  the  best  of  judgment!" 

"I  don't  see  what  you  mean,"  the  mason  said. 

"Nor  I,"  said  Adelle. 

"Let  us  have  some  lunch  first,"  the  judge  replied. 
"We  have  done  a  good  deal  this  morning  and  need 

466 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

food.  Perhaps  later  we  shall  all  arrive  at  a  complete 
understanding." 

At  the  close  of  their  luncheon  the  judge  remarked 
to  Adelle,  — 

"Your  cousin  and  I,  Mrs.  Clark,  have  talked 
over  your  idea  of  giving  to  him  and  his  relatives 
what  the  law  will  not  compel  you  to  distribute  of 
Clark's  Field.  He  does  n't  seem  to  think  well  of  the 
idea." 

"It's  foolish,"  the  mason  growled. 

Adelle  looked  at  him  swiftly,  with  a  little  smile 
that  was  sad. 

"I  was  afraid  he  would  say  that,  Judge,"  she  said 
softly. 

"You  know  any  man  would!  ...  I  ain't  never 
begged  from  a  woman  yet." 

"The  woman,  it  seems  to  me,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  question,"  the  judge  put  in. 

"And  it  is  n't  begging,"  Adelle  protested.  "It's 
really  yours,  a  part  of  it,  as  much  as  mine,  —  more, 
perhaps." 

"  It 's  nobody's  by  rights,  so  far  as  I  can  see ! "  the 
mason  retorted  with  his  dry  laugh. 

"Exactly!"  the  judge  exclaimed.  "Young  man, 
you  have  pronounced  the  one  final  word  of  wisdom 
on  the  whole  situation.  With  that  for  a  premise  we 
can  start  safely  towards  a  conclusion.  Clark's  Field 
does  n't  belong  to  you  or  to  your  cousin  or  to  any 
of  the  Clarks  living  or  dead.  It  belongs  to  itself  — 

467 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  the  people  who  live  upon  it,  who  use  it,  who  need 
it  to  get  from  it  their  daily  bread  and  shelter." 

"But,"  jeered  the  mason,  "you  can't  call  'em  out 
into  the  street  and  hand  each  of  'em  a  thousand- 
dollar  bill." 

"No,  and  you  would  make  a  lot  of  trouble  for 
everybody  if  you  did  —  especially  for  the  Alton 
police  courts,  I  am  afraid!  But  you  can  act  as  trus 
tees  for  Clark's  Field  —  "  He  turned  to  Adelle  and 
continued  whimsically,  —  "That's  what  the  old 
Field  did  for  you,  my  dear,  with  my  assistance.  Its 
wealth  was  tied  up  for  fifty  years  to  be  let  loose  in 
your  lap!  You  found  it  not  such  a  great  gift,  after 
all,  so  why  not  pour  it  back  upon  the  Field?  .  .  . 
Why  not  make  a  splendid  public  market  on  that 
vacant  lot  that's  still  left?  And  put  some  public 
baths  in,  and  a  public  hall  for  everybody's  use,  and 
a  few  other  really  permanent  improvements?  — 
which  I  fear  the  city  will  never  feel  able  to  do!  In 
that  way  you  would  be  giving  back  to  Clark's  Field 
and  its  real  owners  what  properly  belongs  to  it  and 
to  them." 

So  the  judge's  thought  was  out  at  last.  It  did  not 
take  Adelle  long  to  understand  it  now. 

"I'll  do  it,"  she  said  simply,  as  if  the  judge  had 
merely  voiced  the  struggling  ideas  of  her  own  brain. 
"  But  how  shall  I  go  to  work?  " 

"I  think  your  cousin  can  show  you,"  the  judge 
laughed.  "He  has  many  more  ideas  than  I  should 
dare  call  my  own  about  what  society  should  do  for 

468 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

its  disinherited.  Suppose  you  talk  it  over  with  him 
and  get  his  suggestions." 

"My  God!"  the  stone  mason  groaned  enigmati 
cally. 

The  sardonic  smile  spread  over  his  lean  face  as  he 
further  explained  himself,  — 

"It  ain't  exactly  what  I  took  this  trip  from  Cali 
fornia  for." 

"You  didn't  understand  then,"  the  judge  re 
marked. 

"And  I  did  n't  understand  either,"  Adelle  added. 

"  I  guess  I  could  keep  you  from  getting  into  trouble 
with  your  money  as  well  as  the  next  man.  I  'd  keep 
you  out  of  the  hands  of  the  charity  grafters  anyhow ! ' ' 

"I  think,"  the  judge  summed  up  whimsically, 
"that  you  are  one  of  the  best  persons  in  the  world 
to  advise  on  how  to  distribute  the  Clark  millions. 
That  is  what  should  be  done  with  every  young  an 
archist — set  him  to  work  spending  money  on  others. 
He  would  end  up  either  in  prison  or  among  the  con 
servatives." 

"But,"  Adelle  demurred  finally,  "that  leaves  the 
others  —  all  the  California  Clarks  —  out  of  it  for 
good." 

"Where  they  belong,"  put  in  the  mason. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  the  judge  added  cau 
tiously.  And  after  further  reflection  he  suggested, 
"Why  should  n't  you  two  make  yourselves  into  a 
little  private  and  extra- legal  Providence  for  these 
members  of  your  family?  Once,  my  dear,"  he  said 

469 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

to  Adelle,  "  I  did  the  same  for  you !  At  considerable 
risk  to  your  welfare  I  intervened  and  prevented  cer 
tain  greedy  rascals  from  doing  your  aunt  and  you 
out  of  Clark's  Field,  you  remember?'* 

He  paused  to  relate  for  Tom  Clark's  benefit  the 
story  of  the  transaction  with  which  we  are  fully  fa 
miliar. 

"Of  course,  if  then  I  had  known  of  the  existence  of 
our  young  friend  and  his  family,  I  should  have  been 
obliged  to  include  him  in  the  beneficence  of  my  Provi 
dence.  But  I  did  n't.  It  was  left  for  you,  my  dear,  to 
discover  him ! .  .  .  There  was  a  time  when  I  felt  that 
I  had  played  the  part  of  Providence  rashly,"  —  he 
smiled  upon  Adelle,  who  recalled  quite  vividly  the 
stern  lecture  that  the  court  had  given  her  when  she 
was  about  to  receive  her  fortune.  "But  now  I  feel 
that  I  did  very  well,  indeed.  In  fact  I  am  rather 
proud  of  my  success  as  Providence  to  this  young 
woman.  ...  So  I  recommend  the  same  r61e  to  you 
and  Mr.  Clark.  Look  up  these  California  Clarks, 
study  them,  make  up  your  minds  what  they  need 
most,  then  act  as  wisely  as  you  can,  not  merely  in 
their  behalf,  but  in  behalf  of  us  all,  of  all  the  people 
who  find  themselves  upon  this  earth  in  the  long 
struggle  out  of  ignorance  and  misery  upwards  to 
light.  ...  It  will  keep  you  busy,"  he  concluded  with 
his  fine  smile,  —  "busy,  I  think,  for  the  better  part 
of  your  two  lives.  But  I  can  think  of  no  more  inter 
esting  occupation  than  to  try  to  be  a  just  and  wise 
Providence!" 

470 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

"It's  some  job,"  the  mason  remarked.  "I  don't 
feel  sure  we'd  succeed  in  it  much  better  than  Fate." 

"You  will  become  a  part  of  Fate,"  the  judge  said 
earnestly,  "as  we  all  are!  Don't  you  see?" 

"We'd  better  begin  with  Cousin  Stan  first,"  the 
mason  shouted.  "I 'd  like  to  be  his  fate,  you  bet!" 

"What  would  you  do  with  the  Honorable  Stan 
ley  Clark?"  the  judge  asked. 

"Boot  him  clear  out  of  the  State  of  California  — 
show  him  up  for  what  he  is  —  a  mean  little  cuss  of 
a  grafter;  no  friend  of  labor  or  anything  else  but  his 
own  pocket." 

"Good!  But  it  will  take  money  to  do  that  these 
days,  a  good  deal  of  money !  You  will  have  to  pay  for 
publicity  and  court  expenses  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"  Hoorah !  I  'd  like  to  soak  him  one  with  his  share 
of  Clark's  Field!" 

"Providence  blesses  as  well  as  curses,"  warned  the 
old  judge.  "And  it's  chief  work,  I  take  it,  is  educa 
tional  —  to  develop  all  that  is  possible  from  within. 
Remember  that,  sir,  when  you  are  '  soaking '  Cousin 
Stan." 

"The  educational  can  wait  until  we've  done  some 
correctin'!" 

They  all  laughed.  And  presently  they  parted.  As 
they  stood  in  the  little  front  room  waiting  for  Adelle's 
car  to  fetch  her,  the  judge  remarked  with  a  certain 
solemnity,  — 

"Now  at  last  I  believe  the  fate  of  Clark's  Field  is 
settled.  In  that  good  old  legal  term,  the  title  to  the 

47i 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

Field,  so  long  restless  and  unsettled,  at  last  is 
'quieted,'  I  think  for  good  and  all,  humanly  speak 
ing!" 

1 '  I  think  so, ' ' Adelle  assented,  with  the  same  dreamy 
look  in  her  gray  eyes  that  had  moved  the  judge  to 
take  her  hand  that  morning.  "At  least  I  see  quite 
clearly  what  I  must  do  with  my  share  of  it." 

"Come  and  see  me  again  before  you  go  away,  as 
often  as  you  can,  both  of  you!"  the  judge  said  as 
they  left.  "Remember  that  I  am  an  old  man,  and 
my  best  amusement  is  watching  Providence  working 
out  its  ways  with  us  all.'  And  you  two  are  part  of 
Providence:  —  come  and  tell  me  what  you  find!" 

"We  will!"  they  said. 

After  the  door  had  swung  to  behind  his  visitors, 
the  judge  stood  thoughtfully  beside  the  window 
watching  the  cousins  depart.  As  the  young  mason 
hopped  into  the  car  in  response  to  Adelle's  invita 
tion,  and  clumsily  swung  the  door  after  him  with  a 
bang,  the  judge  smiled  tenderly,  murmuring  to  him 
self,  — 

"It's  all  education,  and  they'll  educate  each 
other!" 


AND  here  we  must  abandon  Adelle  Clark  and  Clark's 
Field,  not  that  another  volume  might  not  be  writ 
ten  concerning  her  further  adventures  with  the  old 
Field.  But  that  would  be  an  altogether  different 
story.  She  went  back  to  see  Judge  Orcutt,  not  only 
at  this  time,  but  many  times  later,  as  long  as  the 
judge  lived.  So  he  was  able  to  watch  the  idea  that 
had  sprung  into  being,  helped  by  his  wise  sympathy, 
grow  and  bear  its  slow  fruit  to  his  satisfaction.  In 
starting  this  chance  couple  upon  the  quest  of  their 
scattered  relatives,  to  play  the  part  of  Providence 
to  all  the  little,  unknown  California  Clarks,  and  also 
to  restore  to  Clark's  Field  its  own  riches,  which  for 
two  generations  had  been  unjustly  hoarded  for  the 
use  of  one  human  being,  the  judge  was  doubtless 
doing  a  dangerous  and  revolutionary  thing,  accord 
ing  to  the  belief  of  many  good  people,  something 
certainly  ill  befitting  a  retired  judge  of  the  probate 
courts  of  his  staid  Commonwealth!  Had  he  not 
been  employed  for  forty  years  of  his  life  in  ex 
pounding  and  upholding  that  absurd  code  of  in 
heritance  and  property  rights  that  the  Anglo-Saxon 
peoples  have  preserved  from  their  ancient  tribal 
days  in  the  gloomy  forests  of  the  lower  Rhine?  Nay, 
worse,  was  he  not  guilty  of  disrespect  to  the  most 

473 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

sacred  object  of  worship  that  the  race  has  — the  holy 
institution  of  private  property,  aiding  and  abetting 
an  anarchist  in  his  loose  views  upon  this  subject? 
I  will  not  try  to  defend  the  judge.  He  seemed  tran 
quil  that  first  day  as  he  hobbled  up  his  old  stairs  to 
his  study,  as  if  he  felt  that  he  had  done  a  good  day's 
business  and  was  enjoying  the  approval  of  a  good 
conscience;  also,  the  satisfaction  of  insight  into  hu 
man  nature,  which  is  one  of  the  rare  rewards  of  be 
coming  old.  Nor  did  he  worry  for  one  moment  about 
our  heroine  Adelle.  He  thought  Adelle  one  of  the 
safest  persons  in  the  universe,  because  she  could 
derive  good  from  her  mistakes,  and  any  one  who  can 
get  good  out  of  evil  is  the  safest  sort  of  human  being 
to  raise  in  this  garden  plot  of  human  souls.  The 
judge  may  have  been  more  doubtful  about  the  stone 
mason,  but  in  the  young  man's  own  phrase  he  con 
sidered  him,  too,  a  good  bet  in  the  human  lottery. 
As  to  what  they  might  do  to  each  other  in  the 
course  of  their  mutual  education,  the  judge  left  that 
wisely  to  that  other  Providence  of  his  fathers,  sure 
that  Adelle  this  time  would  not  take  such  a  long  and 
painful  road  to  wisdom  as  she  had  done  in  marrying 
Archie.  But  we  must  not  mistake  the  judge's  last 
foolish  remark,  —  interpret  it,  at  least  in  a  merely 
sentimental  sense,  too  literally.  Like  a  poet  the  judge 
spoke  in  symbols  of  matters  that  cannot  be  phrased 
in  any  tongue  precisely.  He  did  not  think  of  their 
marrying  each  other,  because  they  were  deeply  con 
cerned  together,  although  I  am  aware  that  my 

474 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

readers  are  speculating  on  this  point  already.  The 
judge  left  that  to  Adelle  and  Tom  Clark  and  Provi 
dence,  and  we  can  safely  do  the  same  thing.  He  set 
them  forth  on  their  jaunt  after  the  stray  members  of 
the  Clark  tribe  and  other  deeds  with  a  favorable  ex 
pectation  that  they  would  commit  along  the  road 
only  the  necessary  minimum  of  folly,  and  above  all, 
sure  of  Adelle's  destination.  For  at  twenty-six  she 
had  passed  through  crude  desire,  through  passion 
and  pain  and  sorrow,  and  had  discovered  for  herself 
the  last  commonplace  of  human  thinking  —  that 
the  end  of  life  is  not  the  "pursuit  of  happiness,"  as 
our  materialistic  forefathers  put  it  in  the  Constitu 
tion  they  made  for  us,  and  cannot  be  ''guaranteed  " 
to  any  mortal.  With  that  bedrock  axiom  of  human 
wisdom  embedded  in  her  steadfast  nature,  to  what 
heights  might  not  the  dumb  Adelle,  the  pale,  passive, 
inarticulate  woman  creature,  ultimately  rise? 

There  were  many  stations  on  her  road.  And  first 
of  all  her  husband,  Archie.  Adelle  began  to  think 
again  about  Archie  in  the  new  light  she  had.  She  had 
not  thought  about  him  at  all  since  she  had  dropped 
him  so  summarily  from  her  life  after  the  fire  at  High- 
court.  She  wrote  him  finally  a  considerable  letter, 
in  which  she  made  plain  the  results  of  her  thinking. 
It  was  a  surprising  letter,  as  Archie  felt,  not  only  in 
length,  but  in  its  point  of  view  and  its  kindly  tone. 
She  seemed  to  see  the  great  wrong  she  had  ignorantly 
done  to  him.  The  youth  she  had  blindly  taken  to 
gratify  her  green  passion  and  to  become  the  father 

475 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

of  her  only  child !  She  had  ruined  him,  as  far  as  any 
one  human  being  can  ruin  another,  and  now  she  knew 
it.  She  had  been  the  stupid  means  of  providing  him 
with  a  feast  of  folly,  and  then  had  abandoned  him 
when  he  behaved  badly.  So  she  wrote  him  gently, 
as  one  who  at  last  comprehended  that  mercy  and 
forgiveness  are  due  all  those  whom  we  harm  upon 
our  road  either  consciously  or  ignorantly ,  giving  them 
evil  to  eat.  Yet  she  saw  the  crude  folly  of  attempt 
ing  to  resume  their  marriage  in  any  way,  and  did 
not  for  once  consider  it.  They  had  sinned  gravely 
against  each  other  and  must  face  life  anew,  sepa 
rately,  recognizing  that  theirs  was  an  irreparable 
mistake.  So  she  wrote  unpassionately  of  the  legal 
divorce  which  must  come.  And  she  gave  him 
money,  promising  him  more  as  he  might  need  it, 
within  reason.  Archie  straightway  put  a  good  part 
of  it  into  oil  wells  because  every  one  in  California 
was  talking  oil,  and  of  course  lost  it  all.  Then  Adelle 
sent  him  money  to  buy  a  nut  ranch,  in  one  of  the 
interior  valleys,  and  there  we  may  leave  Archie 
growing  English  walnuts  fitfully.  At  times  he  felt 
aggrieved  with  Adelle,  complained  that  he  had  been 
abused  as  a  man  who  had  married  a  rich  woman 
and  then  been  thrown  aside  when  he  considered 
himself  placed  for  life.  But  also  at  times  he  had  a 
fleeting  conception  of  Adelle's  character,  realized 
that  she  was  not  now  the  girl  who  had  married  him 
out  of  hand  after  a  mad  night  ride  across  France. 
She  was  bigger  and  better  than  he  now,  and  he  was 

476 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

not  really  worthy  of  her.  But  these  rare  moments  of 
insight  usually  came  only  when  Adelle  had  answered 
favorably  his  pleas  for  more  money. 

One  memory  of  her  early  years  came  back  to 
Adelle  at  this  time  —  a  picture  that  had  been  dark 
to  her  then.  It  was  when  she  first  met  her  little  Mexi 
can  friend  at  the  fashionable  boarding-school.  She 
could  not  understand  the  girl's  foreign  name,  and  so 
the  little  Mexican  had  written  it  out  in  pencil,  — 
"Diane  Merelda,"  and  underneath  she  wrote  in 
tiny  letters,  --"F.  de  M." 

"What  do  those  mean?"  Adelle  had  demanded, 
pointing  to  the  mysterious  letters. 

"Fille  de  Marie,"  the  little  Catholic  lisped,  and 
translated,  —  "Daughter  of  the  Blessed  Virgin; 
you  understand?" 

Adelle  had  not  understood  then,  nor  had  she 
thought  of  it  all  these  years.  But  now  the  incident 
came  back  to  her  from  its  deep  resting-place  in  her 
consciousness,  and  she  understood  its  full  meaning. 
She,  too,  was  a  child  of  God!  albeit  she  had  lived 
many  years  and  done  folly  and  suffered  sorrow  be 
fore  she  could  recognize  it. 

And  so  Clark's  Field  had  taught  its  last  great  les 
son,  —  Clark's  Field,  that  fifty  acres  of  lean,  level 
land  with  its  crop  of  bricks  and  mortar,  its  heavy 
burden  of  human  lives,  the  sacrificial  altar  of  our 
economic  system  and  our  race  prejudices,  —  Clark's 
Field !  We  pass  it  night  and  morning  of  all  the  days 

477 


CLARK'S  FIELD 

of  our  lives,  but  rarely  see  it —  see,  that  is,  more  than 
its  bricks  and  mortar  and  empty  faces.  It  should 
be  called,  in  the  quaint  phrase  of  the  judge's  people, 
"God's  Acre!"  One  might  say  that  the  beauty,  the 
supreme  fruit  of  this  Clark's  Field,  which  never 
blossomed  into  flower  and  fruit  all  these  years  we 
have  been  concerned  with  its  fate,  was  Adelle.  Just 
Adelle !  The  judge  thought  that  was  enough.  Adelle 
would  go  on,  he  believed,  growing  into  new  wisdom, 
slowly  acquired  according  to  her  nature,  and  also 
into  tranquillity,  friendship,  love,  and  motherhood 
—  all  the  eternal  rewards  of  right  living.  Would  she 
accomplish  this  best  through  that  other  Clark  — 
the  workman  —  whom  she  had  discovered  for  her 
self?  The  sentimental  reader  probably  has  this  al 
ready  settled  to  his  satisfaction. 
But  I  wonder! 


THE  END 


£bc 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .   A 


THE  WOMEN  WE  MARRY 

By  ARTHUR  STANWOOD  PIER 


"  Keen  and  incisive  in  character  study,  logical  and  life 
like  in  plot  invention  and  development,  '  The  Women  We 
Marry,'  is  a  novel  that  stands  sturdily  on  its  own  merits. 
It  is  vigorous,  frank  and  emotional  in  the  best  sense  of 
that  much-abused  word,  and  there  is  little  in  it  that  is  not 
faithfully  representative  of  life."  Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  author  of  this  realistic  novel  has  not  been  afraid 
to  endow  his  people  richly  with  the  ordinary  faults  and 
foibles  of  human  nature.  .  .  .  Both  his  men  and  women 
are  very  real,  human  people."  New  York  Times. 

"  As  a  study  of  types,  '  The  Women  We  Marry '  is  one 
of  the  best  things  that  American  fiction  has  recently  pro 
duced."  Springfield  Republican. 

1 2  mo.    $1.35  net.     Postage  extra 


HOUGHTON  Y&iL  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  jQ^W  AND 

COMPANY  fclra  NEW  YORK 


O  PIONEERS! 


By  WILLA  SIBERT  GATHER 


"  A  great  romantic  novel,  written  with  striking  brilliancy 
and  power,  in  which  one  sees  emerge  a  new  country  and 
a  new  people.  .  .  .  Throughout  the  story  one  has  the  sense 
of  great  spaces ;  of  the  soil  dominating  everything,  even 
the  human  drama  that  takes  place  upon  it ;  renewing  it 
self  while  the  generations  come  and  pass  away." 

Me  duress  Magazine. 

"  The  book  is  big  in  its  conception  and  strikes  many 
great  live  topics  of  the  day  —  the  feminist  movement  and 
the  back-to-the-soil  doctrines  being  two  of  the  most  con 
spicuous.  There  is  a  spirit  of  the  open  spaces  about  this 
story  —  a  bigness  that  suggests  that  Miss  Gather  has  taken 
more  than  her  title  from  Whitman's  hymn  to  progress, 
'Pioneers,  O  Pioneers.'"  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


With  frontispiece  in  color. 

i2mo.     $1.25  net.     Postage  extra. 


HOUGHTON  /"vSGfc  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  /^\>i  AND 

COMPANY  tS\ra  NEW  YORK 


THE  PRECIPICE 


By  ELIA  W.  PEATTIE 


"A  frank  and  fearless  study  of  the  New  Womanhood 
which  we  now  see  all  around  us  ...  done  upon  a  broad 
canvas."  The  Bookman. 

"  No  stronger  novel  pleading  the  cause  of  woman  has 
yet  been  written  than  *  The  Precipice.' " 

Los  Angeles  Times. 

"The  author  knows  life  and  human  nature  thoroughly, 
and  she  has  written  out  of  ripened  perceptions  and  a  full 
heart  ...  a  book  which  men  and  women  alike  will  be 
better  for  reading,  of  which  any  true  hearted  author  might 
be  proud."  Chicago  Record  Herald. 

"  So  absolutely  true  to  life  that  it  is  hard  to  consider  it 
fiction."  Boston  Post. 


With  frontispiece.     Square  i2mo. 

$1.35  net.     Postage  extra. 


HOUGHTON  /&&  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  J^\rS  AND 

COMPANY  fcllra  NEW  YORK 


v.  v:s  EYES 


By  HENRY  SYDNOR  HARRISON 

"'V.  V.'s  Eyes'  is  a  novel  of  so  elevated  a  spirit,  yet 
of  such  strong  interest,  unartificial,  and  uncritical,  that 
it  is  obviously  a  fulfillment  of  Mr.  Harrison's  intention 
to  *  create  real  literature.'  " — Baltimore  News. 

"In  our  judgment  it  is  one  of  the  strongest  and 
at  the  same  time  most  delicately  wrought  American 
novels  of  recent  years."  —  The  Outlook. 

'"V.  V.'s  Eyes'  is  an  almost  perfect  example  of 
idealistic  realism.  It  has  the  soft  heart,  the  clear  vis 
ion  and  the  boundless  faith  in  humanity  that  are  typi 
cal  of  our  American  outlook  on  life."  —  Chicago  Re 
cord-Herald. 

"  A  delicate  and  artistic  study  of  striking  power  and 
literary  quality  which  may  well  remain  the  high-water 
mark  in  American  fiction  for  the  year.  .  .  .  Mr.  Harri 
son  definitely  takes  his  place  as  the  one  among  our 
younger  American  novelists  of  whom  the  most  endur 
ing  work  may  be  hoped  for."  —  Springfield  Republican. 

Pictures  by  R.  M.  Crosby.     Square  crown  8vo. 

$1.35  net.     Postage  extra. 


HOUGHTON  Y&L  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  /^ST  AND 

COMPANY  fcllBi  NEW  YORK 


THE  SPARE  ROOM 

By  Mrs.  Romilly  Fedden 


"  A  bride  and  groom,  a  villa  in  Capri,  a  spare  room 
and  seven  guests  (assorted  varieties)  are  the  ingre 
dients  which  go  to  make  this  thoroughly  amusing 
book."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Bubbling  over  with  laughter  .  .  .  distinctly  a  book 
to  read  and  chuckle  over."  —  Yorkshire  Observer. 

"  Mrs.  Fedden  has  succeeded  in  arranging  for  her 
readers  a  constant  fund  of  natural  yet  wildly  amusing 
complications."  —  Springfield  Republican. 

"  A  clever  bit  of  comedy  that  goes  with  spirit  and 
sparkle,  Mrs.  Fedden's  little  story  shows  her  to  be  a 
genuine  humorist.  .  .  .  She  deserves  to  be  welcomed 
cordially  to  the  ranks  of  those  who  can  make  us 
laugh." — New  York  Times. 

"  Brimful  of  rich  humor."  —  Grand  Rapids  Herald. 

Illustrated  by  Haydon  Jones.     i2mo. 
$1.00  net.     Postage  extra 


HOUGHTON  /v§i&>  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  /^W  AND 

COMPANY  (ralrai  NEW  YORK 


OTHERWISE  PHYLLIS 

By  Meredith  Nicholson 


"  The  most  delightful  novel-heroine  you  've  met  in 
a  long  time.  You  like  it  all,  but  you  love  Phyllis."  — 
Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  A  true-blue,  genuine  American  girl  of  the  2Oth 
century,"  —  Boston  Globe. 

"  Phyllis  is  a  fine  creature.  ...  *  Otherwise  Phyllis ' 
is  a  ' comfortable,  folksy,  neighborly  tale'  which  is 
genuinely  and  unaffectedly  American  in  its  atmos 
phere  and  point  of  view."  —  Hamilton  Wright  Mabie, 
in  the  Outlook. 

"  '  Phil '  Kirkwood  —  « Otherwise  Phyllis  '  —  is  a 
creature  to  welcome  to  our  hearth,  not  to  our  shelf, 
for  she  does  not  belong  among  the  things  that  are 
doomed  to  become  musty."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"  Phyllis  is  a  healthy,  hearty,  vivacious  young  woman 
of  prankish  disposition  and  inquiring  mind.  .  .  . 
About  the  best  example  between  book  covers  of  the 
American  girl  whose  general  attitude  toward  mankind 
is  one  of  friendliness." — Boston  Advertiser. 

With  frontispiece  by  Gibson.     Square  crown  8vo. 
$1.35  net.     Postage  extra 

$£§$&Jfe 
HOUGHTON  f^jSL  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  /^W  AND 

COMPANY  (KUra  NEW  YORK 


VALENTINE 


By  Grant  Richards 


"A  far  better  novel  than  its  predecessor,  'Cavi 
are.'" —  London  Athenaum. 

"  Cheeriness,  youth,  high  spirits  and  the  joy  of  life 
—  these  are  the  principal  ingredients  of  this  novel."  — 
London  Telegraph. 

"  In  '  Valentine '  the  action  is  laid  almost  wholly  in 
London,  with  occasional  week  ends  at  Paris.  .  .  . 
'Valentine'  is  a  good  story  about  enjoyably  human 
people,  told  with  the  rich  personal  charm  of  the 
accomplished  raconteur."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"Its  details  and  all  the  actions  of  all  connected 
with  its  details  are  worked  out  with  a  realistic  thor 
oughness  that  makes  the  story  seem  a  piece  of  re 
corded  history.  .  .  .  Distinctly  light  reading,  clever, 
engaging,  skillfully  wrought." — Churchman. 

1 2  mo.    $1.35  net.     Postage  extra 

<8^&$& 
HOUGHTON  ^®£L  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  /Z^CT  AND 

COMPANY  fevlCT  NEW  YORK 


A  CONFEDERATE  GIRL'S  DIARY 

By  Sarah  Morgan  Dawson 

"  A  living  voice  from  the  past  of  the  Civil  War  comes 
to  us  from  the  pages  of  '  A  Confederate  Girl's  Diary.'  .  .  . 
It  is  fascinatingly  interesting,  a  volume  of  real  life.  .  .  . 
A  very  human  document,  and  one  remarkably  mature  and 
just,  to  have  been  written  by  so  young  a  girl  in  times  so 
trying."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

"No  such  intimate  diary  of  the  war  from  a  woman's 
point  of  view  has  yet  been  given  to  the  world,  and  cer 
tainly  no  diary  of  such  unusual  literary  merit."  —  San 
Francisco  Argonaut. 

"  We  can  but  wonder  that  this  maiden  of  the  sixties 
could  have  created  and  left  to  posterity  such  an  adequate, 
convincing  and  psychologically  perfect  portrayal  of  a 
woman  of  the  South  in  the  era  that  closed  with  the  sur 
render  at  Appomattox.  .  .  .  Not  a  page  of  the  story  could 
be  spared,  No  one  can  wonder  at  the  intense  courage  and 
bravery  of  the  Southern  soldiers  after  reading  with  what 
passionate  faith  and  devotion  these  fiery-hearted  Southern 
women  sent  them  into  battle."  —  Boston  Transcript. 


Illustrated.     Crown  8vo.    $2.00  net.    Postage  extra 

^Sfi3C!9£<2?? 

HQUGHTON               /%jj&>  BOSTON 

MIFFLJN                 /r§2  AND 

COMPANY              (fe\l£5i  NEW  YORK 


HAGAR 


By  Mary  Johnston 


"  Hagar  will  stand  out  as  one  of  the  splendid  woman 
characters  of  modern  fiction  —  serene  and  strong,  an 
ideal  feminist  and  a  thorough  American."  —  Portland 
(Me.)  Telegram. 

"A  splendid  story  .  .  .  not  the  least  part  of  its 
charm  is  that  delightful  atmosphere  of  Virginia  family 
life  with  which  Miss  Johnston's  readers  are  familiar." 
—  Baltimore  Evening  Sun. 

"  A  powerful  plea  for  woman  suffrage  in  the  guise 
of  gripping  fiction."  —  Springfield  Republican. 

"  Feminism  has  never  had  a  more  human  exposition. 
It  is  a  book  notable  for  sane  methods  as  well  as  a 
delightful  plot."  — Literary  Digest. 

"Hagar  is  one  of  the  most  admirable  of  Miss 
Johnston's  creations  and  the  novel  is  a  worthy  addition 
to  Miss  Johnston's  works."  —  Philadelphia  Record. 

Square  crown  8vo.      $1.40  net.     Postage  extra 


HOUGHTON  /SS'  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  JL^C  AND 

COMPANY  ifelKS  NEW  YORK 


The  Story  of  Waitstill  Baxter 

By  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN 

"  It  cannot  fail  to  prove  a  delight  of  delights  to  '  Rebecca 
of  Sunnybrook  Farm'  enthusiasts."  —  Chicago  Inter- Ocean. 

"  All  admirers  of  Jane  Austen  will  enjoy  Waitstill  Baxter. 
.  .  .  The  solution  the  reader  must  find  out  for  himself. 
It  is  a  triumph  of  ingenuity.  The  characters  are  happy  in 
their  background  of  Puritan  village  life.  The  drudgery, 
the  flowers,  the  strictness  in  morals  and  the  narrowness 
of  outlook  all  combine  to  form  a  harmonious  picture."  — 
The  London  Times. 

"  Always  generously  giving  of  her  best,  and  delightful 
as  that  best  always  is,  Mrs.  Wiggin  has  provided  us  with 
something  even  better  in  '  Waitstill  Baxter.'  "  — Montreal 
Star. 

"  In  the  strength  of  its  sympathy,  in  the  vivid  reality  of 
the  lives  it  portrays,  this  story  will  be  accepted  as  the  very 
best  of  all  the  popular  books  that  Mrs.  Wiggin  has  writ 
ten  for  an  admiring  constituency."  —  Wilmington  Every 
Evening. 


Illustrated  in  color.     Square  crov/n  8vo. 
$1.30  net.    Postage  extra 


HOUGHTON  rjy&  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  J^V\T\  AND 

COMPANY  f^YCT  NEW  YORK 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


n 


9 


LD  2lA-38m-5,'68 
(J401slO)476B 


General  Library     e 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 


LD  21-95?7i-7,'37 


, 


TjNIVKRSlTY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


